


The Junior Necromancers' Guild

by ApatheticLexicographer



Series: The Association of Undead Assholes (Reincarnation AU) [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "I'll never write RPF" I said, Alternate Universe - Magic, Far Future, Gen, Magic, Slow Burn, Witches, also theres magic?, does it count as RPF if its about their personas?, everyone has been reincarnated in future Dream SMP/L'Manburg, l'manburg, no plot yet, okay a plot might be happening, or most of them at least ;), playing fast and loose with how much this world is based off of minecraft, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, this is gonna take a while so, will tag characters as they appear :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27683726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApatheticLexicographer/pseuds/ApatheticLexicographer
Summary: Tubbo is a witch with identity issues, Wilbur is a reanimated corpse, Tommy is forced to be the voice of reason for once in his life.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, no shipping only fambly
Series: The Association of Undead Assholes (Reincarnation AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138937
Comments: 146
Kudos: 481





	1. In which everything starts to go wrong

“This is stupid. This is so stupid, and dumb, and you’re stupid and dumb for making me come down here.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, sweeping the narrow beam of his flashlight across the dusty cobbled floor in front of them. “Oh, grow up. It’s not even that dangerous! What, are you scared of the spiders?”

_Yes_. “No” Tommy grumbled and grabbed at the straps of his backpack, twirling one of the loose ends between his fingers. The little plastic ring at the end clicked gently against his knuckles as he swung it back and forth. “It’s illegal.”

His friend stopped, swinging his torch around to point it directly in Tommy’s face. “So when you want to break into school after hours to replace the principal’s stationary with crayons it’s ‘totally fine’ and ‘a great idea’, but the moment _I_ want to do something illegal it becomes a problem?” The shadows on his face were stark and deep, making his eyes and cheeks seem to cave in skeletally.

Tommy cringed back, flapping his arms around. “God, would you get that bloody thing out of my eyes?” Tubbo glared but pointed the light back down to rest on his shoelaces (badly tied and trailing against the ground). “Jesus, thank you. Anyway, you’re my impulse control, you aren’t supposed to want to do illegal things, you’re supposed to try and stop me from doing them! And there’s a hell of a difference between a harmless prank and breaking into a fucking CRYPT!” His voice spiked up louder than he had meant, echoing off of the cold stone walls.

_Crypt!_

_Crypt!_

_Crypt!_

Tubbo smiled so innocently it had to be fake. “It’s a nice crypt, though.” The little circle of light danced up to the top of the arch that led to the next narrow passageway. “A little damp, maybe, but these arches are so architecturally interesting. Very…” he squinted “archy.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy murmured, “we’re actually going to die down here.”

Tubbo squawked, grabbing Tommy’s arm and marching him forward. “Don’t say that! It’s not like we’re lost or anything!”

“Did you bring a map?”

It was a joke, he was joking, it was _supposed_ to be a joke because _of course his best friend wouldn’t drag him down into a crypt that hadn’t been touched since the founding of L’Manburg without a map_ , but Tubbo hesitated.

Dread, which had been skimming the surface of his mind, sunk in like a rock. “Tubbo.”

“It’s fine, honestly, I remember the route out. We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it, man.” His voice was far too pitchy to be reassuring.

Tommy sucked in a deep breath. “HOLY SHIT YOU BRAINLESS FUCKING IDIOT! YOU DO KNOW THAT NOBODY’S EVER GONNA-”

“Tommy.”

“-FIND US DOWN HERE, RIGHT? NOPE, NOPE, FUCK THIS, WE’RE LEAVING AND I’M-”

“Tommy!”

“-NEVER LISTENING TO YOU AGAIN, CAN’T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY-”

“OH MY GOD SHUT UP TOMMY, I’VE FOUND IT!” The hand around Tommy’s arm squeezed him excitedly. “Look, look, see the inscription by the arch? It’s him!”

Tommy paused and leaned closer, gesturing for Tubbo to shine the flashlight on the little stone plaque next to the small, frankly rather underwhelming archway. The inscription was rough and shallow, as if made by someone with very little time or skill, but he could make out the words written there.

_Wilbur Soot, first president of L’Manburg_

Tommy snorted. “What kind of name is _Wilbur Soot?"_ He turned to Tubbo expecting to see his friend smiling back at him, but was instead greeted by a blank stare. “Big T? You good?”

Tubbo seemed to snap back to consciousness, an unnatural grin plastered over his face. “Totally, totally, let’s go inside.”

“Oh, su- Hey, what? Go INSIDE? I thought you just wanted to find the bloody thing, not see the body!”

The shorter boy had already vanished through the small stone doorway though, taking their only light source with him. Tommy shuddered before hurrying after him. The burial chamber itself was a small room with rough stone walls that looked like they had been carved directly out of the ground. Most of the space was taken up by a large, crudely shaped granite coffin, sealed only by a thick slab of rock layed over the top. Nobody had bothered with ornamentation or even an inscription on the coffin itself. Cobwebs matted the walls and the ground was coated in a powder of dust. The whole thing was shoddy and frankly a mess.

Tubbo had set his bag down by the coffin and was rummaging through it, the torch gripped between his teeth. He glanced briefly up at Tommy and made a grabbing gesture. “Ginne.”

“What?”

Tubbo rolled his eyes and spat the torch out, the beam of light roving wildly around the walls as it rolled away and into one of the corners. “Gimme your bag, there’s stuff I need in it.”

Tommy took a hesitant step back. “Okay man, you’re seriously starting to weird me out here. What are you even planning on doing? I don’t know if I really want to be embroiled in a grave robbery.” He let the backpack slip off his shoulders anyway, dropping it gratefully. “What’s in there anyway? My shoulders are killing me.”

The other boy tore open the zipper and hefted out a large book. Its cover was made of a coarse looking brown leather, the spine cracked heavily with age and only tacked together by a few messily sewn strands of yarn. The pages were of uneven sizes so that some of them stuck out, the protruding corners fuzzily soft from wear. A few of the sheets looked too thick and tough to be paper. Tubbo cracked the book open and flicked through it rapidly, uneven pages flying by in a blur until he paused. Leaning over Tommy could see that the page was covered in writing, but the letters didn’t look like any language he knew of.

Tubbo set the book down with a thud that disturbed the carpet of dust and moved back to his own bag, withdrawing a few bottles of shimmering liquid. “Would you mind reading that page out to me? I need both hands free.”

Tommy blinked, swallowing. “Tubbo. Big T. T-Money. Seriously, this wasn’t even that funny to begin with. Can you just drop it already so that we can go home? Phil’s gonna notice I’m gone soon.”

He was completely ignored. “What does it say after chorus fruit?” A mortar and pestle joined the bottles.

Tommy grabbed the book and thrust it in Tubbo’s face. “Nothing! It says fucking nothing, because it’s a gibberish book you probably bought in some weird garage sale just to prank me, and it’s cold and dark and there’s a literal dead body about three feet away from me and can we _please_ go home now!”

The book was snatched from his hands abruptly. “Netherwart. Can you get me the netherwart? It should be in a jar at the bottom of the bag. Grab the spider eyes too while you’re at it.”

Tommy let out a wordless shout and kicked the side of the coffin, yelling again at the pain that bloomed through his foot as it crunched into the solid granite. “CUT THE ACT, IT’S NOT FUNNY!”

Tubbo sighed, standing up to look Tommy in the eyes. “Look, I don’t have time to explain now but I promise this will all make sense soon. You’re safe, don’t worry, but I just need your help because I only have a few minutes left in control and I don’t think I’ll be able to persuade him to come down here again. So please, Tommy, just get me the fucking netherwart.”

Tommy was trembling, he realised dimly. He sunk down to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut, blindly fumbling through the bag until his hand closed around smooth glass before yanking it out and thrusting the jar in Tubbo’s direction. He felt it leave his hand before there was a loud scraping noise that seemed to rattle his very bones. He faintly heard the sound of chalk rasping against stone, of liquid splashing and the click of a lighter. A muttering started in a strange, guttural tongue, growing louder and louder as the smell of burning grew stronger and Tommy thought he might just claw his ears out if it would only make it _stop_ before suddenly only the sound of his own gasping breaths filled his ears. And then a yelp, a cough, the sound of fabric rustling and an oddly familiar voice crying out at the top of his lungs.

“SON OF A _BITCH_ , THAT HURT!”


	2. Recalcitrant ex-dictator is not happy to be alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who showed interest in the last chapter! i'm shy so i don't usually respond to comments unless i'm being asked a question but i promise i treasure and appreciate them all <3

Tommy stared at the corpse.

The corpse stared back.

The firelight warped his face somewhat but for someone supposedly dead for centuries Wilbur Soot looked distinctly alive. His skin was smooth, his cheeks were full, his hair looked in need of washing but was definitely attached to his head. Strangest of all, though, was the fact that he was sitting rigidly in his coffin and blinking confusedly back at Tommy.

He felt like he was about to throw up.

The corpse? Man? Licked his lips and spoke, his voice sounding hoarse. “Tommy? What? But…” He broke the eye contact to look down at his abdomen. There was a large gash in his shirt with a dark, crusted stain leaking out from it to cover most of his front. It didn’t take a genius to tell that it had been the wound that killed him. Wilbur drew his hand up to touch the skin beneath the gash and it came away dry. He opened his mouth to speak again when Tubbo let out a wheeze.

“I can’t believe that actually worked! I’m a fucking necromancer!”

Wilbur’s expression dropped. “You didn’t.”

Tubbo sucked in a breath. “Wait, it’s not what you think! Look, I realise what this looks like but I promise...” His face suddenly went slack. “Oh, come on.” His legs crumpled under him and he went tumbling face first to the ground.

Tommy yelped and darted out to stop Tubbo’s head from hitting the ground. God knows he didn’t need any more brain damage. “Big T?” He shook Tubbo a few times but the other boy didn’t respond. Tommy glanced back over to Wilbur, a lump forming in his throat.

The man was sitting motionless, a blank expression on his face. Suddenly the hard line of his mouth cracked into a smile and he began to chuckle, slowly building up into a manic laughter. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Aren’t you supposed to be the good guys? You really couldn’t afford me the basic human decency of dying, you just _had_ to bring me back to what? Admonish me? Force me to apologise? I don’t regret _shit_ Tommyinnit, I’d blow it all up again in a heartbeat. So go crawl back to your crater, Tommy, and tell everyone exactly what kind of monster you think I am” Wilbur spat before tossing himself back into his coffin dramatically.

Tommy lowered Tubbo to the ground and stood up shakily, walking the couple of paces to loom over the coffin. Wilbur was draped out over the bottom with his eyes closed like a cat basking in sunlight but when he sensed Tommy’s shadow falling over him he flicked one eye open in annoyance. “Well? Begone, child. What’re you gonna do, arrest me? I’d like to see you try.”

Tommy tried not to let his voice shake. “How do you know my name?”

Wilbur ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. “God, fuck _off_. Take Tubbo with you and leave me in this cave to rot.”

“This isn’t a cave, it's a tomb. You’re literally laying in a coffin” Tommy mumbled.

The man dropped his hands to stare Tommy dead in the eyes. “Really.” He sat up suddenly and Tommy had to jerk back to avoid being bumped into. Two thin arms reached up to the sides of the coffin and Wilbur dragged himself up, legs shaking as he hoisted them over the sides and took a few tottering steps back. He seemed to finally take in the scene: the granite coffin with its lid laying slanted on the floor beside it, the chalk runes spiralling around it, the smouldering piles of ash that gave the air an acrid tint. The thick book with its shoddy binding and Tubbo lying prone next to it. “You really went to all the trouble of burying me just to dig me up again? How long has it even been? Did you think that if you rebuilt L’Manberg first then maybe you could convince me to play nice again? You’re so naive, you know that?” Wilbur sneered at him, leaning forward into his space.

Tommy gulped, voice cracking as he stumbled backward. “I don’t even know who you are! Tubbo just told me he wanted to find some old politician’s grave, he didn’t mention resurrecting the dead!”

Wilbur grabbed at the air beside his hip before realising that there was nothing there but empty space. “If I had my sword right now you’d be dead, Tommyinnit.”

“You can’t threaten me, I’m a minor!” he yelped, desperately wishing that he had brought his pocket knife or _something_ at least because the zombie guy in front of him was about the farthest thing from mentally stable.

Wilbur snorted. “You’re a _war criminal_.”

“I- what?” The confusion on his face must have been evident because it gave Wilbur pause.

“You seriously aren’t fucking with me?”

Tommy shook his head rapidly and Wilbur paled, the loss of blood finally making him look a little more corpselike. “Tommy, if I find out that you’re lying…”

“I‘M NOT! REALLY!” 

Wilbur contemplated him for a minute, noting the hunch of his back and the way his shirt hung a little too loosely from his shoulders. “Since when have you been such a twig? I could take you out without trying and I’ve been dead for what? A year or two?”

Before Tommy could respond Tubbo groaned. “Owwww, my headdddd” he slurred, still curled over on the floor.

“Big T! What happened man?” 

His friend blinked groggily up at him, propping himself up on his elbows. “I… fell over?”

Wilbur spoke up, sounding far calmer than he had a moment earlier. “If you’re awake, would you mind explaining what the hell is happening?”

Tubbo squinted up at him. “Who… oh. Oh! You must be Wilbur! He rolled over and scrambled to his bag, fumbling about at the bottom for a second before withdrawing a slightly crumpled sheet of paper that looked like it had been torn out of one of his school workbooks. “He wrote this to give to you in case he couldn’t explain it in person.” He jabbed the note at Wilbur’s stomach until the man took it from him and unfolded it. There was a tense silence as he scanned the note before he dropped abruptly to sit on the edge of the coffin.

“You’re joking.”

Tubbo winced apologetically. “Uh… not really. Sorry. If it makes you feel any better I’m just as confused as you, I’ve only been doing what he told me to.”

Tommy huffed, getting increasingly annoyed. “Are either of you gonna let me in the loop any time soon?”

Without looking up Wilbur crushed the note in his hand and threw it at Tommy, clipping him on the shoulder. He bent to pick it up and tried to smooth out the worst of the wrinkles before trying to read it.

_Wilbur!_

_Hey, it’s been a while! Like a few centuries actually. Your probaly really confused right now and I dout my future self is being very helpful. Sorry future Tubbo but you’re kind of dumb :p I’d tell this to you myself but if youre reading this then it means I overexcerted myself and I can’t talk again for a while. Basically the Tubbo who’se currently with you is’nt actually me, he’s my future riencarnation. Or I’m his past riencarnation I guess. Tommy’s probably there too and it’s the same with him, although he dosent remember anything :( Remember Big Law? Turns out he was actually me from a past life, but for some reason I could actually swap conciousneses with him. This Tubbo can do it too but I think so far he’s only swapped with me. I’m not sure if theres a word for that, maybe clarevoyant or something? Whatever its not important. Mostly everyone has been riencarnated here, their actually all really nice :) I couldn’t find out anything about what happened to the others who weren’t riencarnated because we stopped talking after you died but I remembered where we put your body so I thought I’d try to bring you back! Oh yeah I’m a witch. But I guess you already knew that, you always dumped me with making potions. Ok I’m running out of space now but I’ll talk to you as soon as I have enough energy. For now you should go back to Tommys house, I think there’s someone there you need to talk to. Ok bye!_

_-Toby_

The handwriting was a lot like Tubbo’s but fancier somehow, more loopy and almost cursive. Tommy reread it a few times before looking back down at his friend, who had sat up and was beginning to repack all his weird witchy shit. He spluttered. “I don’t even know where to fucking start! Were you planning on ever telling me that you’re apparently a witch? Or that you get possessed by your own ghost? Wait, how many times have I talked to him and not to you?” As if Tommy’s day couldn’t _possibly_ get any weirder, he now had all this shit dumped on him? He was about five minutes away from a total fucking meltdown.

Tubbo shrugged, looking far too calm for the current situation. “Dunno. I don’t really remember what happens when he takes over. Today he asked me beforehand if we could switch but sometimes there are just random blanks in my memory. Why do you think school is so hard for me?”

“Because you’re stupid?”

He made an affronted noise, bending down to pick up the discarded torch. “What? No! It’s because half the time my body’s being piloted by a completely different Tubbo!” The bulb of the flashlight had grown noticeably dimmer since they had found the burial chamber making Tommy wonder how much time had passed.

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans where he had stuffed his phone before escaping through his window so that Phil wouldn’t notice he had left. “Have you tried getting therapy for that?”

“How would that help! What would they diagnose me with, ghosts?”

Whatever Tommy had been going to retort with died on his tongue the moment he saw the time. He gagged. “FIVE AM? TUBBO, WE’VE BEEN DOWN HERE FOR FOUR HOURS!”

“How the time flies when you’re being possessed.”

“This isn’t the right time for joking, Big T. Phil’s actually gonna murder me, holy shit.”

Tubbo placed a sympathetic hand on his friend’s back. “He won’t _murder_ you, he’ll just have you grounded until you move out of home.”

“Same difference” Tommy muttered. “We’ve gotta go, but what are we gonna do about him?” He waved toward Wilbur, who was still perched on his coffin and staring into space.

Tubbo worried his lip between his teeth. “Other me said to bring him back to your house?”

Tommy snorted. “What, to meet Phil? Why would he want to talk to my dad? Phil’s so old they’re practically the same age!”

“Well do you have any other suggestions? We can’t just leave him here!”

“We could dump him at a homeless shelter.”

“He still looks like a murder victim, I think they’d ask questions.”

Wilbur finally broke out of his fugue to sigh melodramatically. “You two do realize that I can hear you, right?”

Tommy looked him up and down, from the ratty vintage coat to the dangerous glint in his eyes to, most incriminatingly, the bloodstain that covered his entire front. He groaned. “My house it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey dislike this chapter but i had to get the exposition out of the way somehow ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Dadza was about to launch a search party

Getting out of the crypt was a lot easier than Tommy had expected. After practically dragging the still half-catatonic zombie down the few stretches of tunnel they actively remembered passing through he suddenly perked up and began leading them through the underground labyrinth. 

Tommy had to hurry to still keep up with the man while also partially supporting Tubbo, who was having trouble walking straight after his fainting spell. “How do you even know where you’re going? Don’t tell me they buried you alive or something.”

Wilbur twirled on his foot, gesturing grandly to the dank cavern around them. “You- my Tommy, I mean, built these tunnels waaay before I died. Don’t know when they turned them into a crypt, though, we used to just use them for transport. There were entrances all over the place. Not just in L’Manburg, either, they’re peppered throughout the Dream SMP as well. They smell a lot better than they used to, actually. When did they build a new sewer system?”

Tubbo wrinkled his nose. “Your grave is in a _sewer_? Wow, they really must have hated you.”

Wilbur’s step faltered slightly, but he kept a blank face. “I suppose.”

They didn’t talk again until they reached the opening they had come in through, a small hole in a hillside on the outskirts of L’Manburg. It was the only accessible entrance they could find but it was about an hour’s walk from their neighborhood. The sun was kissing the horizon when they exited, the peachy dawn haze a stark contrast to the damp gloom of the sewer-crypts. Wilbur squinted, throwing his arms up to block the light. “God almighty that’s bright!”

“It’s really not. Can you button your coat up?”

Wilbur smirked. “No I cannot.”

Tommy glowered. “Do you have to be awkward about everything? If you go walking about in public like _that_ ,” he gestured to the tattered, bloody mess of Wilbur’s shirt, “you will quite literally have the cops called on you. And me and the police, we aren’t the best of buddies.”

“Oh? What did Tommy Lite do to piss off a cop?” Wilbur started to button up his coat painstakingly slowly, carefully rotating each button to be perfectly straight as he went down.

“I don’t tell creepy old men I met in sewers my life story, thanks.”

“He stabbed one” Tubbo chirped, letting go of Tommy’s arm to try and walk on his own before promptly tripping over a rock. ”Fuck, my head!”

“ _Tubbo_.”

“You _what?_ Jesus, I underestimated you. You’re just as feral as the original Tommy.” Wilbur started to climb the hill, constantly remaining a few steps ahead of Tommy no matter what the younger boy did.

“I am not _feral_ , he was being a dick. And would you stop referring to me like I’m some shitty knockoff? I’m the real deal, thank you very much. I bet past Tommy wasn’t half the man I am.” He puffed up haughtily, trying to ignore the growing stitch in his side from jogging to keep up with Wilbur’s ridiculously long legs.

“Past Tommy could climb hills without bursting a blood vessel.”

“The two of you do realize that you’re walking in the wrong direction, right?” Turning around Tommy could see Tubbo still standing at the base of the hill, a few strands of grass poking out of his hair.

“...”

“Yes.”

By the time they had made their way back to Phil’s house the delicate dawn light had blossomed to a cheerful spring morning. The later it got the more people appeared on the streets, casting odd looks at the two teenagers walking around with the man who looked like he had stepped straight out of a period drama. At last, though, the three stood on the front porch of Tommy’s house in a silent stalemate for who should knock first. It was a nice house, decently sized with a whitewashed brick exterior and forest green window frames. The little front garden blossomed with foxgloves and snapdragons, and every other house on the street matched it in neatness. Beneath the front door’s awning were three pairs of rain boots and a cheesy welcome mat.

At last Tommy coughed slightly and raised his fist to bang loudly on the green painted paneling of his front door. Within a few seconds it flew open to reveal Phil in a state of disarray. His hair was wild and unbrushed and there were prominent bags under his eyes. His hand was clenched around his phone so tightly that his knuckles were white, Tommy’s number visible with a notice saying his call hadn’t gone through. Tommy winced; they had been well out of signal range.

His dad let out a soft gasp. “You- oh my god, Tommy!” Suddenly there were two warm arms enveloping both him and Tubbo, squishing them against each other. “What the hell Toms, you can’t just run off like that! You had me worried sick, I called the police and everything, I-” He looked up, finally noticing the third member of the group. Wilbur was staring at him mutely, an unreadable expression on his face. “Oh, hello there. Did you bring my boys back home? Thank you so much, really.”

“Ah, Phil, no.” Tommy squirmed out of the hug and grabbed Wilbur’s arm. “Dad, this is Wilbur.” When Wilbur didn’t add anything Tommy dragged his arm up and forced him to wave, limp hand flopping from side to side. “Say hello to Phil, Wilbur.”

“Um” the taller man blurted eloquently.

Phil’s brow furrowed in confusion but he kept up a polite smile. “Ah, would you like to- come in?” His eyes darted questioningly over to Tommy, who nodded slightly and dragged Wilbur inside.

The entry hall had a door to the living room at the left, a door to the kitchen at the right, and a small patio as well as a staircase to the upper floor at the end. Tommy led Wilbur into the living room and shoved him onto the couch, the older man dropping like dead weight to the overstuffed cushions. Hah, _dead_ weight. When he didn’t move at all Tommy looked back over to Phil, who was lurking in the doorway. His dad jerked his head toward the kitchen and Tommy went obediently.

Tubbo was already waiting for them, foot tapping against the linoleum as he stared intently at the microwave clock. When the number flicked over from **06:17** to **06:18** he beamed triumphantly before seemingly realizing that there were other people in the room with him.

Phil took a deep breath, setting his phone face down on the countertop and crossing his arms. “Tommy.”

Tommy cringed, bowing his head. “I know. I know! I’m sorry, I was supposed to be back before you woke up, you weren’t meant to notice I was gone.”

A raised eyebrow. “You’re not really helping your case here, mate.”

“I- right, yeah.” He shrunk back on himself. “M sorry.” The rubber tips of his dusty sneakers squeaked against the floor as he scuffed his foot back and forth.

Phil sighed softly. “Look, I’m not mad at you. Well, I am, but what’s more important is that you’re safe, alright? We can discuss repercussions later, and you _aren’t_ getting out of this scot free, but what matters most is that you’re back and you’re okay. And that goes for both of you” he added, casting a glance at Tubbo who looked away bashfully.

Tommy tried not to tremble and failed abysmally. “Right.”

“All that being said,” Phil’s voice grew a little cooler, “Why did you sneak out in the middle of the night, and why is there a homeless man on my couch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i... overuse italics


	4. Tommy accidentally gets a new brother

“We, uh,” Tommy shot a panicked glance at Tubbo, who had frozen up. “We were doing, uh, homework!” He nodded firmly.

“You… what? What kind of homework?”

“Owl migration” Tubbo blurted, eyes wide and unblinking.

Tommy faltered slightly before nodding more vigorously. “Yes, owl migration. Documenting the movements of local owls. Can’t be done during daytime.”

Phil blinked, baffled. “I… owls migrate? It’s _spring!”_

“Local species. Very rare, protected species, you won’t have heard of it. L’Manbergius… Owl...us. Very rare. Has an atypical migratory pattern.” He gave what he hoped was a suave grin.

Their cover story might not have been the best, judging by the way Phil’s shoulders were shaking. Tommy couldn’t tell whether he was holding back tears, laughter or both. “Neither of you even take biology!”

Tubbo was visibly sweating. “It’s for calculus!”

“I- look I don’t know _what_ you’re trying to keep hidden from me, but as long as it’s not drugs I’ll let it pass. But where does the homeless guy factor into this?”

"We found him in a sewer," Tommy answered, before realising how little sense that made. "I mean a sewer mouth, y'know, big concrete pipes 'n shit. Can we keep him?" He did his best impression of puppy eyes but ended up looking more like an angry goldfish. Tubbo snorted before slapping a hand to his mouth and fake coughing loudly.

Phil pressed a hand to his temple. "Look, I know you boys just want to help and that's very sweet of you, but adopting random strangers is not the way to do it. If you two want to help the community then maybe we could see about you volunteering at a soup kitchen or something, but you need to be careful around strangers. You don't know anything about this man. Actually," he paused. "I probably shouldn't have left him in there on his own. Wait a second." He made to leave when Tommy grabbed on to his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait, no, It's not- Tubbo can we tell him?"

His friend raised his hands defensively. "Why are you asking me? I barely know any more than you do!"

"You're the one who's all… y'know…" He wiggled his fingers. "Spooky."

"That's all Toby! I'm just as normal as you!"

Phil tugged his arm gently out of Tommy's grip. "Tommy, can you please let me go? I need to make sure your new friend hasn't run off with our TV."

“He wouldn’t! He’s…” Tommy choked, mind scrambling desperately for an excuse. He couldn’t just tell Phil that the guy on his couch was a magic zombie, he’d never believe it, especially not if Tubbo couldn’t even do magic himself to prove it. Likewise, if Phil knew he was a total stranger he’d kick him out instantly, and as annoying as the guy was Tommy didn’t want to be for blame if he ended up committing terrorism without a babysitter. He needed a good enough reason to keep the man around, what…

The lie came to him in a flash; a perfect cover story. Even though he knew it was false it felt strangely _right_ to say, as if they were words he had uttered a thousand times before. “He’s my brother!”

When Phil only stared at him he continued. “From, from my first home. Back when I was just a baby, before I went into the system. He said he’s been looking for his little brother and I was like “hey, what’s he called” and he was like, y’know, and we basically realized from there. He’s still kind of out of it, he was pretty shocked.”

His dad let out a shaky breath. “And you’re sure he’s telling the truth?”

Tommy nodded silently.

A tense silence hung thick in the air like fog, before Phil reached out and patted his shoulder. “Okay, yeah, he can stay. He can sleep on the couch tonight if he wants. Does he need a change of clothes?”

Tommy thought about the blood crusted rag of a shirt. “Yeah, he can borrow some of mine cuz I’m taller.”

Phil gave a strained smile. “Alright, I’ll make some tea. You two can talk. Tubbo-”

“Tubbo stays,” Tommy cut in. “Please.”

“Alright.” Phil gave him another absent pat before turning away, effectively dismissing them. 

Ten minutes found the two of them plus Wilbur wrapped in blankets on the couch with a mug of steaming tea each and a box of custard creams to share. Phil had practically vaporized as soon as he was sure they were fully settled, leaving the three alone.

Wilbur stared absently into his mug (a custom piece with a drawing Tommy had done when he was six printed on the side. It was supposed to be of him and Phil, but they looked more like malformed spiders and the Phil blob had wings for some reason) before lifting it robotically to his lips and taking a sip. He slowly lowered the cup to the coffee table in front of him, pushing it away until it threatened to drop off the opposite side. “I don’t like tea.”

Tommy grabbed a biscuit and stuffed it in his mouth whole without bothering to bite. “Bashtard.” He chewed a couple of times before swallowing and grabbing for the biscuit packet again. “God, I can’t believe I told him we’re related. I’ll never get rid of you now, he’ll want to have you over for Christmas and shit if he doesn’t actually try adopting you!” He shuddered at the thought before hissing at Tubbo as his friend tried to steal the biscuits. “Fuck off, they’re mine! You can have _one_.” He shook one out onto Tubbo’s lap, unintentionally spraying him with cookie crumbs in the process. “Oops. Anyway, shouldn’t we, like, talk?”

Tubbo grabbed for the TV remote, switching it on and leaving it on the first station that came up; a news broadcast. “There’s no point in talking about anything until Toby comes back. I dunno how long it takes him to get his ghost juice back but it probably won’t be til tomorrow at least.”

Tommy shifted his attention to the TV. They were showing a clip that had been taken on a shitty phone camera, weirdly formatted for the wide screen and shaking constantly. Tommy could just about make out a few wrecked cars through a thick cloud of smoke that seemed to be coming from a nearby building. A shadow formed in the smoke and grew into a humanoid figure, the two, then three. Just as they started to emerge from the haze the footage cut off abruptly.

_“The attacks on the Greater Dream SMP area have been increasing in frequency and severity ever since they first started three weeks ago. Multiple witness reports have described the perpetrators as “beast-like people, with the ears and tusks of pigs”. If you see suspicious activity or anybody wearing a pig-like mask, police ask that you report it immediately. The most recent attack occurred-”_

Tommy groaned, fumbling for the mute button. “Oh god, not this shit again. Those-”

Wilbur murmured. “What are piglins doing in the overworld? Piglins... Wait.” His eyes darted around the room, settling on a framed photo on their TV stand. It was from two summers ago when they visited a local park to see the flowers in bloom. Tommy was on the right holding the camera up, with Phil and Tubbo squished into his side to fit into the frame. It had been a nice afternoon, just the three of them, like when Tommy and Tubbo were kids. Their little family.

Wilbur looked back at Tommy, stony eyed. “Where’s Techno?”


	5. Meanwhile, in literal hell

Techno had always known that he would outlive his family. It was a given fact, piglins mature past childhood and then just… stop, indefinitely. Even as a half piglin he would live to see every human in his life crumble to dust and nothing could change that. He thought sometimes that it would be better if he could force himself to stop caring about them entirely, just to stop the inevitable pain of losing them. Still, even Techno couldn't have predicted that their dysfunctional little family would fall apart so soon.

Tommy was a good kid, really. He was fiercely protective of everything he loved; his friends, his discs, his country. The brat had a lot of moxie. Techno could respect that, even if he'd never admit to it. What he _couldn't_ respect was how deliberately goddamn obtuse the kid was. Techno made it perfectly clear exactly where his motives lay but Tommy had the audacity to act like _Techno_ had betrayed _him_ when their goals stopped coinciding. He was so willfully ignorant, it was like he simply couldn't process the fact that someone he respected might have a different set of beliefs to him.

Wilbur, on the other hand, was a complete lunatic. Maybe once he was the morally just general who Tommy practically worshipped, the liberator of all those oppressed under Dream, but all that was left was a pathetic, twisted shell. The man was a danger to society, and coming from Techno that was really saying something. He worked with him only because it was convenient, and maybe because he didn't quite want to believe that his older brother was completely gone. Still, the sadness Techno felt at his death was outweighed by the sense of relief that the poor bastard was finally out of his misery.

And Phil. The man who found him as a small child, who took him in and raised him. Taught him how to fight, how to survive, how to thrive. To Techno, Phil had been the best dad he could ever have asked for. But then again, he wasn't Phil's only son. He didn't know much about what happened after he left home but he was able to piece together a picture. Wilbur, newly a father, bringing home his baby son in a desperate plea for guidance. Phil helping him raise Fundy through his chlidhood, finally bonding properly with his eldest son. And then, when the two had become closer than ever before, leaving his own youngest kids with Wilbur to go fuck around in the wilderness. Wilbur was suddenly the sole guardian of three kids when he could barely even raise one alone. It was hardly surprising he was so fucked in the head.

On the 16th of November L'Manburg blew up and Techno's family went with it, divided by betrayal, death and the uneasy knowledge that they might never have fully understood one another after all. Techno crossed alone through a hastily constructed nether portal and never looked back.

The piglins weren't terrible company. Sure, they didn't talk, but Techno was hardly an avid conversationalist himself. When he first stumbled into the Nether covered in blood and ash the piglins had tended to his wounds, giving him fermented mushroom stews and slightly dubious healing potions to help him regain his strength. It was only once he was fully healed that things started getting odd.

Everybody knows about piglins' weakness for gold. Toss a few coins at them and they'll be easily distracted, wear golden armour and they'll treat you as one of their own. What few people know about piglins is that if they see someone wearing a large, opulently decorated golden crown those same magpie instincts tell them to obey. They're stupidly hardwired to practically worship the nearest vaguely monarch looking entity, no matter what. Their devotion is honestly pretty intimidating. 

It started simply enough. Techno would leave to go in search of a decently safe place to set down roots and when he returned to the bastion remnant to restock supplies he would find a smattering of gold nuggets in front of his door. Within weeks nuggets became bars piled so high he could barely enter his room any more. The final straw came when he found several whole blocks of gold towering up almost to the ceiling. He packed his ender chest and set out to start a new life for himself.

He found a nice spot in a warped forest at the foot of a cliff and built himself a little shack. Netherrack was pretty gross to use as a building material because it left a weird, sticky residue behind when you touched it, but he baked some of it into bricks and managed to build himself a decently fortified base that kept as much of the Netherness of the Nether out as possible. Inside went his ender chest, a crafting table and furnaces, but what took up most of the inside was his garden. Techno spread out the sizable amount of dirt he found in his pockets and planted a potato field studded with saplings, giving the whole room a comfortingly earthy smell. 

Life was good in his shack. It might not have been the largest or the cleanest but as a temporary base to plot his next move it was just fine for Techno. Sure, there were compromises. No bed, obviously; no windows because they only let more of the hot, sulfurous air in and having grown up in the bitterly cold Antarctic Empire Techno could never quite stomach the heat. Only fungi and potatoes to eat unless he turned on the hoglins, which his dumb piglin instincts refused to let him do. But overall? It wasn't bad.

Until one day Techno opened his front door to a flood of gold, nuggets skittering across his floor to embed themselves in his precious farmland. It only got worse from there.

The piglins started camping out outside his house, waiting for him to open his door. The first time he absolutely had to get out he made the mistake of leaving through the door, only to be immediately mobbed by piglins desperately trying to touch his crown. They trailed after him everywhere he went and even tried to follow him inside. The second time he mined through his back wall, only to discover that they had the place surrounded. The third time he dug a tunnel beneath his house and snuck out what he thought was a fairly long way away, emerging in what looked like a bastion. Once he found his way out he turned around to look at it and realized that the huge fortress entirely engulfed his shack, seemingly built around it. How they were able to construct something of that scale in only a few weeks Techno had no idea, and frankly didn’t care either. More importantly the stupid pigs had practically taken him hostage, all for the sake of a dumb crown.

He was trying to figure out how to sneak all his stuff out of the bastion and find a place to rebuild when one of the piglins stumbled across him. Her eyes widened and she let out an excited grunt, drawn toward him like a moth to a flame. Techno mustered all the deadpan malice he could and glowered at her. "Get out of here now, before I make you." To his surprise she obediently shuffled off, not sparing him a second glance.

Well. Alrighty.

He made his way around the outer perimeter of the bastion and when another piglin found him he told it the same thing. Same reaction. The next time one wandered up to him with an awestruck face he decided to try an experiment. Techno pointed to a small warped fungus growing a few paces away. “Bring me that.” It ambled up to the fungus, yanking it harshly out of the spongy ground before presenting it to Techno proudly. He took the little mushroom and immediately dropped it, wiping his hands clean on his pants. “Now run around in circles.” It took off in a few short laps before returning, waiting obediently for another command. Techno’s mouth twitched. “Kill an ender dragon.” It spun around and trotted off, soon cresting a hill and leaving Techno’s sight. “Wow, you really-” He snickered. “Oh boy. Oh, boy.”

Which is how a year or four hundred later he found himself back in his little shack, humming songs written by a dead man as he tended to his crops. And if his humble abode happened to be surrounded by a fiercely defended bastion with obsidian walls, and if every piglin in the Nether was at his command, well.

It didn’t count as a government if his authority was never made official, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reincarnation philza is ooc because he's actually a good dad :/


	6. The dumbass children have no tact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon said tommy and tubbo angst and i said no <3 so here have wilbur angst instead

“Who’s Techno?”

“Wh-” Wilbur spluttered. “What do you mean, “who’s Techno”? He’s your fucking brother!”

Tommy frowned uneasily, setting his half-full mug down carefully on one of the little woven coasters on their coffee table. Phil had bought them at a craft show a few years ago and made Tommy choose the colors he liked best. “I don’t have a brother.”

Tubbo smacked his arm. “Hey!”

“Oh, shut up. Traitors who move out before they can be adopted don’t get to be a part of the family. That’s just the rules, big guy.”

Tubbo gasped in betrayal. “You know perfectly well-”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON’T HAVE A BROTHER?” Wilbur was breathing shallowly, looking as wild as he had when he had only just been revived. “Of course you- come on, Tommy, of course you have a brother. He’s about nay tall, got pale pink hair in a stupid princess braid and pig tusks? Technoblade, Tommy, come on,” Wilbur pleaded, clasping his hands.

“Um… Wasn’t Technoblade the name of some old timey king?” Tommy squirmed, deflecting. The older guy looked to be on the brink of a mental breakdown and if there’s one thing Tommy wasn’t totally amazing at it was consoling people. That wasn’t to say he was bad at it, he was after all an alpha male constantly at peak human performance, but even the great Tommyinnit has limits. Particularly when it comes to emotional vulnerability, because ew.

Tubbo perked up and Tommy couldn’t tell if he was just playing along or not. “Oh, yeah! Mrs Jackovich made me write a presentation on him a few years ago cuz I failed history. I think he was an Emperor, actually, not a king. He was from the Ar- the An- oh hell, what was it? This is why I failed, dammit.”

“The Antarctic Empire.” Wilbur licked his lips. He was trembling, Tommy noticed. Not a great sign. “The Antarctic Empire, it’s where we grew up. He became the Emperor and I fucked off to Newfoundland and Tommy you, you really don’t- fuck. Fuck. You don’t know him, do you?” The light trembling had progressed to full body tremors and oh god, were his eyes getting wet? Fuuuuuck.

“Uh, no. Sorry?” Tommy cringed internally.

Wilbur shook his head rapidly, trying to blink away the moisture from his eyes. “It doesn’t make any sense though. Why would you all be together without him? Me, I understand, but he belongs here, why would he be reincarnated somewhere else?”

Tubbo coughed. “What if he wasn’t? Reincarnated, I mean.”

Wilbur blinked at him, before laughing. “Tubbo, no, you don’t get it. _Technoblade never dies_ , it’s his whole thing. I mean, they don’t call him the Blood God for nothing, he wouldn’t just be gone like that,” he snapped his fingers. “There’s no way. Techno’s one of the most resilient little shits I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. If he wasn’t reincarnated it just means that he never died in the first place.” It sounded a hell of a lot like denial to Tommy but hey, if it made the guy stop crying then he would roll with it.

Tubbo, apparently, did not feel the same way. “But it’s been, like, hundreds of years. He’s dead, dude.” He reached out and awkwardly patted Wilbur on the knee. The older man stared at him intensely for way too long before squeezing his eyes shut.

“No. No, you’re definitely wrong. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, he’s alive out there somewhere. He’s gotta be.”

_That’s impossible_ Tommy thought but didn’t say. If the man had stopped his meltdown in its tracks Tommy wasn’t about to catapult him back into the existential terror zone. Instead he tried to steer the conversation away again. “Why are you so upset about a guy who’s supposedly my brother, anyway?” A sudden thought came to him. “You two weren’t, like, dating, were you?” He screwed his face up. Somehow, the thought of Wilbur being _like that_ with his brother was really gross.

Wilbur gagged and Tommy could swear he saw him actually turn a faint shade of green. That might have just been the weird corpse magic, though. “What the actual- Tommy that’s disgusting!”

He flung his hands up defensively. “It was just a question!”

“What kind of moron do you have to be to ask if I’m dating my own brother?”

The gears in Tommy’s head whirred, glaringly obvious pieces finally slotting together. “Wait.” His brow creased. “If he’s my brother. And you’re his brother. Then are you… my brother?” He heard Tubbo gasp quietly.

Wilbur stared at him like he was mentally deficient. “No shit, I’m your brother. I thought you knew that?”

“Uh, _no?_ Literally why would I?”

“But you told Phil we were brothers!” Wilbur’s mouth was twitching at the corners.

“It was a cover story, and a bloody good one too might I add. It wasn’t supposed to be true, though! You literally threatened to stab me with a sword like two hours ago, that’s not exactly an indicator of trustworthiness!”

Wilbur finally gave up on fighting it and let his mouth curve into a wide, happy grin, so unlike his manic expression earlier. He chuckled gently before bursting out into warm laughter, clear as a bell and without a hint of malice. It was comforting, like the feeling of a well-worn sweater against your skin or the taste of a favorite meal. He seemed sincerely happy, even if it was only for a moment. His laughter was oddly infectious and within moments both Tommy and Tubbo had joined him, both giggling helplessly. Eventually, though, it faded, and they settled into an oddly comfortable silence.

Wilbur had been staring absently at the framed picture that had triggered his whole episode. “It’s funny.”

“Hm?” Tommy glanced up from where he had sunk into the too-soft couch cushions.

Wilbur sighed wistfully. “Everything seems so… idyllic, now. I thought peace was impossible, but maybe…” The tranquil expression on his face clouded over. “Maybe…”

Tommy blinked up at him, body feeling oddly heavy. On his other side he could feel the solid form of Tubbo’s body as they lay back to back. His friend’s chest was rising and falling slowly, but other than that he was completely still. Right, neither of them had slept last night. Man, sleep sounded really good, actually. “Maybe what, big man?” he slurred, struggling to keep his eyes focused.

Blurrily he saw Wilbur smile down at him, but it seemed much more bittersweet than before. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Go to sleep Tommy.” Two large hands lifted up the blanket that had fallen to the floor, tucking it around both him and Tubbo up to their chins.

Tommy snuggled down and drifted off contentedly, curled up in a patch of bright morning sunlight, and as consciousness slipped from him he heard his brother’s voice humming a familiar melody.


	7. Maybe this is the better timeline?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would've liked to get this up sooner but executive dysfunction is a bitch amirite

In an ideal world Tommy would have awoken slowly, gently fluttering his eyes open to see a warm room bathed in sunset colors. He would have yawned, smiled, and chosen to lay curled up in his blanket for a few minutes longer, suspended in a state of pleasant drowsiness. In an ideal world it would have been a rare moment of perfect calm and absolute happiness.

Since this was not an ideal world Tommy woke up abruptly when his head cracked down on the edge of the coffee table. “Fuck!” he yelled automatically, brain struggling to catch up with reality. His head slid off the table and landed with a smaller but even more painful thud on the carpeted floor, his twisted body leaning uncomfortably off of the sofa.

Hurried footsteps rushed into the room and when Tommy blinked he could see Phil looming above him, upside down from his perspective. Tommy squinted and rubbed at his eyes, cringing at the throbbing pain in the back of his head.

“Toms! What happened? I heard you yell, are you okay?” Phil slid his legs off of the couch and pulled him into a sitting position. Tommy immediately slumped over again, face buried in the soft beige couch cushions.

“Hit m’ head,” he muttered groggily, rubbing the spot where his skull had impacted. “Think I fell off the sofa. Hurts like a bitch.” His words rattled around in his skull.

Phil reached out and combed his fingers through Tommy’s hair, careful to avoid touching his skin. “Well there’s no blood, which is something. Still, you might have a concussion. At the very least it’ll be a hell of a bruise.” He grimaced sympathetically.

“Fan-fuckin-tastic.” Tommy slowly lifted his head up, looking around the room blearily. The curtains were still open but the light streaming through the windows had faded from the crisp white of the morning sunlight to a softer tangerine glow. “Wha’ time izzit?”

Phil smiled. “It’s about five, I had just started making dinner. You can help me if you want, I don’t think those two are getting up any time soon.” He nodded at Wilbur and Tubbo, who were both still nestled in their blankets, sound asleep. Apparently not even the cries of a child in agony were enough to rouse them. Heartless bastards.

“What’cha making?” Tommy gripped the arm of the sofa and pulled himself stiffly to his feet, wobbling a bit on jellyish legs before he fully stabilized. 

“Stir fry. Do you think you can hold a knife to help cut vegetables? I don’t want you to end up cutting yourself, you’re quite hurt enough for one day.”

“You kidding me? I was born with a knife in my hands, Philza. Tommy Knife Hands, they call me. My skills with the blade are unparalleled.” He waved his hands in Phil’s face. “These puppies were just made for chopping the absolute shit out of peppers.”

His dad chuckled, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Tommy scrunched his face up in protest but didn’t try to stop him. “Little gremlin. Come on, you can peel carrots instead.”

“You never let me do anything fun,” he muttered, but he trailed happily after his dad anyway.

An hour and several Batman themed bandages later their dinner was finally ready. Despite his misgivings Phil had reluctantly let Tommy cut vegetables, and that mistake alone had doubled the preparation time. Whatever, at least he got some sick finger decals out of it.

Phil poked him in the side with a fork as he laid the cutlery out on the table. “You go wake the sleeping beauties up, I’ll serve this out.” He paused. “Does Wilbur eat chicken? Shit, I didn’t ask. What if he’s vegetarian? Or vegan? Do you know if he has any allergies?”

He groaned. “Dad, it’s fine. Wilbur’d probably eat a fucking rat if it was free food.” Phil gave him a rather perturbed look and Tommy hurried off, not wanting to elaborate.

The other two were still sound asleep on the sofa when Tommy reentered the room. He tutted and yanked one of the overstuffed throw pillows out from under Tubbo before clobbering him over the head with it, sky blue beads clacking against his skull. His friend whined and rolled over but didn’t seem to wake up so he grabbed another cushion and hurled it at Wilbur, choosing to shake Tubbo by the shoulders instead. “Wake up fuckface, it’s dinner time! I helped make it n’ shit! If you don’t eat it then I’ll be very sad, and you don’t want that, do you?”

Tubbo reached a hand up gently and placed it on Tommy’s cheek. He let it rest there for a moment and Tommy was about to shake it off when Tubbo slapped him suddenly across the face, eyes flying open. Tommy shoved him back to the cushions. “Rude! That’s it, I changed my mind, no dinner for you. You can eat water crackers and cry for all I care, you ungrateful pig.”

“Worth it.” Tubbo yawned. “What time is it?”

“Dinner time. Get up, you lazy bitch.”

“Dinner is an emotion, not a tangible concept.”

“Children. Please. For the love of god. Shut the fuck up.” Tommy turned to the other end of the couch, where Wilbur had buried himself so completely in his blanket that all that was left to show that he was there was a tuft of hair from his stupidly extra bangs. Tommy yanked the cyan blanket away, tossing it into the corner where it flopped dejectedly over a pile of discarded DVD cases.

“Get your ass up, you leech. You need to play nice for Phil or he’ll probably get you taken away by his weird government friends or something. And don’t mention any of the magic crap, he’ll either think you’re high as balls, a nutjob, or both. Kay?”

Wilbur grumbled, combing his hair back from ridiculously messy to artfully mussed or some hipster bullshit. “Anything if it makes you shut your little gremlin mouth for a few minutes. You’re worse than the original, at least he respected me.”

Tommy snorted derisively. “Like fuck I’d ever respect you, you crusty old corpse.”

“See? This is what I’m talking about!”

Phil had already set the table and served out steaming portions of food onto each plate before the three managed to stop bickering long enough to haul themselves to the dining room. Phil sat at the head of the table, Tommy and Tubbo on the right, and Wilbur on the left facing them.

There was a stiff, awkward silence as they all avoided eye contact, pushing food around their plates and occasionally taking a bite. Phil sighed gently before giving a bright, slightly strained smile. “So, Wilbur. Tell me about yourself.”

Wilbur's eyes darted up from the piece of broccoli he had been twirling around on his fork. “Huh?”

“Well, how old are you?”

Wilbur’ brow furrowed and he stared at his hands intensely, taking far longer to answer than he should have. If Tubbo hadn’t grabbed his knee under the table in warning Tommy would have kicked the man. Seriously, how hard is it to remember your own age? “Twenty… uh, twenty four.”

“Great!” Phil beamed, all false cheerfulness. “Tommy said you’d been trying to find him, right? You must have been what, eight when the two of you were separated? You know, it’s funny, the adoption agency never told me that Tommy had a brother. I never would have split you apart if I’d known.”

Wilbur shook his head. “It’s probably for the best that you did. He has a good home here, from what I’ve seen so far. I’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit, and I’ve done things that maybe weren’t so great, in retrospect. He’s had the chance to be normal.” He looked up at Phil, and Tommy got the distinct impression that he was invading on some private moment. “Thank you for giving him that.”

Phil tilted his head. “I won’t pry if it makes you uncomfortable, but I think you’re misunderstanding. If I had known he had a brother I would have fostered both of you.”

Wilbur’s breath seemed to catch in his throat, an unguarded expression slipping over his face. “It’s… kind of you to say that. Maybe in some alternate timeline that’s how it played out.” His eyes fogged over, mouth twitching into a sardonic smile. ”Wish my dad was as nice as you.” It felt like something was going over Tommy’s head, but he couldn’t imagine what.

Phil cleared his throat. “Well, if you don’t mind my asking, where are you staying right now?”

“Uh.” Wilbur’s eyes darted over to Tommy, questioningly. Tommy shrugged as discreetly as possible. “Well, right now I’m kind of between homes, you know. I’ve been sort of going through some personal stuff, it’s not really dinner table talk. That’s part of why I wanted to find Tommy, I wanted to know that he was doing alright without me. Turn over a new leaf and all that.”

Phil nodded. “I said you can stay on our couch tonight if you want, and that offer still stands. But if you need somewhere to stay long-term, we do have a spare room that I could clear out. We have household rules, obviously, but you seem like a nice boy and I don’t want to tear you away when you’ve only just found your brother again. You don’t have to, obviously, but...”

Wilbur shook his head quickly. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly, that’s very generous of you obviously but you don’t know me, really you don’t have to- OW!” This time Tommy really did kick the older guy, his friend’s warnings be damned. The floppy-haired idiot flinched, reaching down to rub at his shin where Tommy had booted him harshly. He glared at the man sitting across from him. _Idiot! Like hell we’re letting a mentally unstable zombie loose in L’Manburg! You’re staying here whether you like it or not._

“What Wilbur _means,”_ He gave a threatening grin in the other’s direction, “is that he would love to stay here. He’s just so polite, aren’t you, what a model citizen. He can’t bear to impose, but, it’s okay, isn’t it dad?”

Wilbur gave him a withering stare but smiled bashfully up at Phil. Slimy bastard. “Well, if you’re seriously offering…”

Phil nodded, two parts happily, one part apprehensively. It reminded Tommy of how Phil had looked at him when he first arrived as a tiny kid, still unsure of whether he was cut out to be a parent but determined to do his best anyway. And then again when he had agreed to take Tubbo in, and he had wondered whether he had bitten off more than he could chew trying to foster a child still scarred by the death of his adoptive parents. Tommy realized that his family might have just grown by one. Oddly, it didn't feel like a bad thing.


	8. Everything seems okay, for now

They ate the rest of their dinner in relative silence, Phil occasionally trying and failing to prompt Wilbur into making small talk. Once they had finished eating Phil asked Tubbo to help him clear the dishes, shooing Tommy out to get the couch ready for Wilbur to sleep on. He grabbed Wilbur’s sleeve, leading him up the stairs to the second floor.

“C’mon, big man, time to get you cleaned up. Wait, you probably didn’t have showers back in ye olde days, did you? Do I have to show you how to use it?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “What? Of course we had showers! Unless you’ve got some kind of weird futuristic plumbing I doubt I need a tutorial.”

“Don’t think so. What kind of tech did you even have back then? I woulda thought you would’ve been more surprised by the TV, to be honest. You don’t think it’s, like, magic, do you?”

Wilbur chuckled. “We _had_ redstone, you know. It cost a pretty fucking penny though, so unless they were filthy rich or really good at building circuits most people didn’t use it. What, did you think people a few centuries ago were complete savages?”

Tommy shrugged, opening the linen cupboard to grab a pillow. “Kinda? Bathroom’s through there, by the way.” He gestured to the door next to him with his toe. “Blue pillow or orange pillow?”

“Blue. Do you have any conditioner?”

Tommy sighed, closing the door of the laundry cupboard a little too harshly. “Don’t think so. We just use that three-in-one stuff cause it’s easier.” When Wilbur gave him a look of mild disgust Tommy rolled his eyes and elbowed his way past him into the bathroom. “God, you’re a real prissy zombie, you know that?” He flung open the cabinet beneath their sink and started rifling through the various little-used products that were collecting dust. “We might have one of the little travel sized bottles that Niki left here last time she came to stay.” He pulled out a tiny lavender tinted bottle from the very back of the cabinet and thrust it at Wilbur, ignoring the older man’s suddenly wistful expression. “You gonna take it or not?”

Wilbur snapped out of whatever thought had been holding him and pocketed the bottle. “Thanks.”

Shaking his head, Tommy left the room, closing the door behind him. “What a fucking weirdo.”

He grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and a yellow t-shirt he had never particularly liked from his closet and dropped them in front of the bathroom door, before heading downstairs again to put Wilbur’s pillow on the couch. He was about to go through to the kitchen when he overheard the quiet murmur of voices talking, just audible over the muffled white noise of the shower running. Tommy pressed his back to the wall next to the kitchen door and tipped his head to hear better, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.

He tuned in to hear Phil speaking in a gentle tone. “Look, you’re obviously welcome here whenever you want. I’ll never stop you from staying here, okay? But Tubbo, you haven’t been home in a week!”

There was a short pause before Tubbo spoke up cautiously. “Is that bad?”

“Well, don’t you want to see your siblings?”

Tubbo sighed. “I’m sure they have more important things to worry about.”

“What do you mean? Eret and Niki were both worried out of their fucking minds when I told them that you and Tommy had up and vanished this morning!” Phil sounded incredulous. “Is there- Tubbo, you know that if something’s wrong at home you can tell me, right?”

“Yeah, totally. Nothing’s wrong though, promise.” That was bullshit if Tommy had ever heard it. He had noticed that his friend had been staying over more than usual but hadn’t really wanted to mention it, figuring that if Tubbo wanted to talk about it he’d just awkwardly bring it up in the middle of a completely unrelated conversation like usual. 

“Tubbo, in the past month you’ve been home four times, and even that was just to check on your beehive!” His voice softened. “Tubbo… is this about Ranboo?” Tommy froze up slightly.

Ranboo was the bakery assistant Niki had hired to replace Fundy. Tommy had met him a few times before when he was visiting Tubbo’s family in their little home above the bakery. The guy was lanky, awkward, had a terrible memory, would do just about anything to avoid eye contact, and was overall kind of a pushover. Still, he gave Tommy free donuts, so he wasn’t that bad. The problem, if you could call it that, came when Tubbo’s siblings had started getting attached to the other boy. It was fairly predictable; he was a dorky kid trapped in the foster system just like they used to be, and with a family made up entirely of sappy weirdos Tommy wasn’t even surprised that they had basically already pseudo adopted the kid. Tubbo didn’t seem to dislike him, they got along pretty well from what Tommy had seen, but whenever anybody mentioned Ranboo he got weirdly shifty. Even Tommy, with his highly limited levels of tact, could tell that it was a sensitive subject better left alone.

Tubbo’s voice was shaking slightly. “Can we not talk about this, please?”

Suddenly a hand closed around Tommy’s shoulder, pulling him away from the wall. “Hey, you awake?”

Tommy let out a little yelp of surprise, managing to stifle himself before it became a full on scream. “GAH- ahem. Wilbur. Didn’t notice you there, buddy.” He looked the other man up and down. The sweatpants, which were a good length on Tommy, left Wilbur’s ankles as well as the bottom part of his calves exposed. The t-shirt fit well, though. Their twiggy build seemed to be one of the only things they had in common. The smell of char and rot that had clung to him like sweat was gone, replaced instead by a floral scent Tommy faintly recognized from Tubbo’s house. Tommy snickered. “Soyboy. Where’d you put the other clothes?”

“I left them in the room with the sign on the door that says “no pussies allowed”.” Wilbur smirked.

Phil stuck his head through the kitchen door, clearly having given up on getting Tubbo to talk. “Ah, you’re all cleaned up, great. It’s still early, but I’ve got some work to do so I'm going to go up to my study. You lot can stay down here if you like, but don’t put the TV on too loud and try to get to bed at a sensible time. Tommy and Tubbo, you still have school tomorrow.”

Tommy pouted. “But daaaaaaad!”

“No buts, Tommy. You’re both still in trouble for sneaking out, remember? Now goodnight, all of you.”

Tommy stuck up his nose and refused to answer, Tubbo offered a slightly feeble wave and a murmured “night”, and Wilbur only nodded his head awkwardly. 

Once their guardian had disappeared upstairs Wilbur collapsed heavily on the couch. “Are you sure he’s entirely sane? He doesn’t know me at all and he’s practically signed me onto his will. I’m mildly concerned.”

Tubbo chuckled. “Phil is just like that, man. He’s like a magnet for sad kids without families.”

“I am not a kid! I literally have an adult son!”

Tommy was tempted to ask Wilbur to elaborate on that, considering that he had claimed to only be 24 and certainly didn’t look much older than it, but the way the older man curled in on himself as soon as the words left his mouth made Tommy reconsider. Instead he just snarked back, “guess that just means you’re a manchild instead,” and turned on the TV to a mindless channel, not wanting to think any more than he had already been forced to.


	9. End of the beginning

Eventually, much later than Phil would have approved of, they dragged themselves to bed. The night passed without the world ending and morning came again, the sunlight forcing its way through the windows and under Tommy’s eyelids.

The only remarkable thing about Tommy’s morning was how _un_ remarkable it was. He got up far earlier than was reasonable, he badgered Phil into letting him have coffee, he desperately tried to cram in the homework that he had skipped thanks to, uh, extenuating circumstances. If it wasn’t for the fourth plate on the breakfast table he could easily have believed that the previous day had been a dream.

In fact, his whole day passed like that. Once he was out of the house without Wilbur there to pester him everything seemed even more disquietingly normal. It was weird, he had only known the guy for a day and definitely didn’t have the best impression of him, yet somehow the absence of his presence at Tommy’s side was jarring. Still, life went on. His teachers and classmates didn’t know that magic was real and they didn’t care either. The world kept on spinning either way. By the time school ended he was almost convinced that Wilbur really _had_ been some insane delusion, that maybe the feeling of detachment from the rest of the world was just another sign of his collapsing mental state.

When Tommy and Tubbo arrived home nobody was there to greet them like usual. Tubbo shot a nervous glance at him, knocking on the open door. “Uh, hello? Phil?” The wooden walls seemed to dampen his words, suffocating.

There was no response, but Tommy heard a loud thud from upstairs, followed by a muffled shout quickly cut off. Silence hung thick in the air. They stared at each other, Tubbo's face mirroring his own nervous perplexion. Tommy swallowed. "They must be upstairs." He made his way down the hall to the staircase, the walls that usually felt so comforting and homely suddenly tight and constricting.

He placed his foot on the first stair, holding his breath. No creak. He looked back to Tubbo, a few steps behind him, and beckoned the other boy forward. His friend tugged at the hem of his shirt anxiously but followed after.

This was nothing, Tommy told himself as he began to climb the flight of stairs. It was just Phil, probably. Still, something whispered in the back of his mind, a voice a distorted echo of his own. How well did he know Wilbur? Not at all, honestly. Whatever he thought he remembered about the man was twisted by time. How was he so sure he could trust the guy? Hadn’t he threatened to kill Tommy? How serious was he about that, really?

Would he-

_Would_ he?

At the top of the staircase the second hallway stretched before him. At the very end was the door to the guest room, cracked slightly open where usually it was kept shut up. He and Tubbo inched toward the door, breaths coming shallower. Tommy pretended that his hands didn't tremble as he reached for the doorknob.

The door swung open before his hand made it, the man behind nearly colliding with him.

His dad gave a startled laugh, setting the large cardboard box he had been clutching down on the floor. "Toms! I didn't hear you come in! Home a bit early, aren't you?"

Tommy let out the breath he had been holding. "We're really not, you just have no sense of time."

Tubbo shifted, still on edge. "Where's Wilbur gone?"

"Hm?" Phil stepped aside so that he was no longer blocking the door, beckoning the two boys in. "He's in here. We've been clearing the room out while you two were away, and he's been telling me about himself."

Wilbur was hunched over on the floor, curled around some sort of book. When he straightened his back to wave at the newcomers Tommy could see it was their old family photo album. "I thought I burned that thing," he muttered.

Phil gave a confused little chuckle. "What?"

"Er, nothing. He hasn't said anything weird to you, has he?"

"I can hear you, you know." Wilbur closed the book with a satisfying snap. "I have been nothing but polite to your dear father, there's no need to worry."

Tubbo bit his lip, still staring warily at Wilbur. "And what was that thud? It sounded pretty loud."

Phil toed the box he had been carrying. "Dropped this little bugger on my foot, it hurt like hell. Don't think anything got broken, thankfully, it's just a bunch of old books and documents." Tubbo finally seemed to relax. "Anyway, I'll get out of your hair." He stooped to pick up the photo album, balancing it on top of the box before hefting it up again and making a beeline for the door. "Yell if you need anything!" The door swung shut.

A tense silence lingered in the room. Now that Tommy was face to face with Wilbur he almost felt bad for suspecting him of… something. The older man seemed so lost, sitting cross legged on the floor of an unfamiliar home, wearing ill-fitting clothes and smelling of a stranger's soap.

Tubbo crossed his arms. "What did you tell him."

Wilbur threw his hands up. "Nothing, jesus! I just told him stuff about my old life. _Not_ ," he added as Tubbo opened his mouth again, "anything about magic, or dying, or historical politics. I'm undead, not braindead." Tubbo shut his mouth again.

Tommy flung himself down on the bed pillows, bouncing slightly on the old spring mattress. "Big T, has your ghost gotten enough magic juice back to hold a non-rushed-and-or-cryptic conversation? You should have a little charge bar for him or something, it'd be so much more convenient."

His friend scoffed, perching on the foot end of the bed. "Why would I know? I'm not a ghost whisperer!" Wilbur gave him a deadpan stare. "Well, okay, but it's not like I can actually communicate with him! He's just there, and sometimes he steals my flesh suit without permission.

_Flesh suit_ , Tommy mouthed. Wilbur cleared his throat. "Can't you summon him or something? You- he- old Tubbo- goddamnit, you know what I mean, but he used to summon his ghosts all the time. Course, we all thought he was just crazy. Funny how things make sense in retrospect."

Tubbo made a face. "I've never tried. It's not like I've ever actually wanted him to be there before."

Tommy smirked, kicking his legs back and forth. "Simply learn how, it's not hard." Tubbo shoved him lightly.

"Where would I even start? I don't know how this works!" Tubbo tossed his head back, flinging his arms out wide and nearly smacking Tommy in the process. "O great ghost of dramatically timed possession, grace us with your ectoplasmy presence!"

Tommy lifted his leg up and kicked him in the back. "Hey dickhead, quiet down. Phil might hear you."

Tubbo didn't respond. He sat there, bolt upright with his arms outstretched, seemingly frozen. "Okay, we get it, it's not funny anymore. If your ghost doesn't wanna come out I'm going to go look for those crisps Phil bought the other day. Wilbur, how do you feel about chicken flavor?"

Suddenly Tubbo jolted into motion, convulsing as if an electric current had passed through his body. He relaxed, arms immediately dropping to his sides and posture losing its rigidity. He took a shaky breath and flexed his fingers one by one before noticing Wilbur and pausing.

"Shit. That actually happened. I un-deaded you. I… wow."

Tommy sat up, reaching out hesitantly. “Tubbo?”

“Tubbo” turned his head to face him, offering up an awkward little wave. “Toby, actually. It’d be too confusing having two Tubbos. But, enough about me. Wilbur,” he slid off the bed, dropping down next to the older man, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t explain anything. Enchanting is pretty tiring when the only things tethering you to this plane of existence are unresolved emotional issues and weird magic genetics.” He smiled, Tubbo’s face somehow looking exhausted when only a few moments ago he had seemed fine. “I guess you’ve probably met Phil by now, huh.”

Wilbur tensed, but nodded. “He’s pretty different. Actually a decent father this time, for one thing.”

Toby’s breath hitched. “Wilbur, there's… Look, I didn’t have time to explain earlier but not everybody, shit, I mean, your brother, Wilbur he’s not-” He shook his head as if to clear it, before staring into Wilbur’s eyes, face drawn and deathly serious. “Technoblade isn’t here.”

The zombie grinned at him. “I figured. I mean, why would he be reincarnated if he never died? Piglins live, like, forever, right?” It sounded so painfully like denial.

Tubbo’s face fell. “I don’t know. I’d like to believe he’s still out there, but he vanished right after you died and nobody ever saw him again. It’s been so, so long.”

Wilbur chuckled, slightly forced, and clapped Toby on the back. “Somebody got pessimistic with old age. Where’s the Tubbo I used to know gone? You used to be such a cheerful kid!”

Toby glared at him. “That was before I became the president of a destroyed country at 16.”

Wilbur’s smile melted away and his hand slipped from Toby’s shoulder. “Right.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose. “You were a president? Of what country?”

Wilbur frowned at him. “L’Manburg, of course. What other countries even have presidents?”

Tommy paused. Replayed what Wilbur had just said. Hesitated briefly, chewing his lip. Finally, he looked back over to Wilbur. “But L’Manburg isn’t a country?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap on act 1! i'll be taking a few days off of writing because christmas so next chapter might be a little late, but should probably be up by new years


	10. Tubbo's journey to witchhood, summarized in three instances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, have some worldbuilding interspersed with liberal foreshadowing (((:

_**1** _

Time had passed since Wilbur had crash-landed into their lives, although not much, relatively. In the present moment Tubbo was spending the night in his own house rather than Tommy’s, a rather unusual occurrence these days. He had escaped from the slightly awkward atmosphere of the shared living space with the perfectly valid excuse of homework, and was sitting at his desk and attempting to do his history work (an essay about mosaics or something, he had gotten distracted by the pictures in the book he was referencing) when his vision began to flicker. This was not unusual. Within a few moments he felt himself slipping away into the murky waters of unconsciousness, the other inhabitant of his body wresting control as he faded away. A standard Tuesday night, all things considered. Toby would often take over from him while he was doing chores, and Tubbo would either awaken to find them done much better than he ever could or see that they had been abandoned entirely the moment they switched.

What _was_ unusual was that when he came back an indeterminate amount of time later he was staring at the Weird Old Book his resident ghost had brought home one day. He never actually asked where, he just came to one day slumped against the door of the room he shared with Tommy, covered in dust and spiderwebs and curled protectively around a book he didn’t recognize. Now the book was being held open close to the start and the page his essay was on had been torn out of his notebook and shoved inside, everything Tubbo had written (only a few words actually, those mosaics were _really_ distracting) scratched out and new text replacing it.

He yanked the page out in irritation and was about to scrunch it up and throw it in the bin when he noticed what was written on it. Most of the page was taken up by an abstract sickle-like shape, simply yet precisely drawn. Laying it side by side with the Weird Old Book he could see it was the same shape inked onto the visible page, but much clearer, without all the wrinkles and smudges of centuries blotting the paper. Above it, in handwriting that wasn’t quite his, was a heading. It had been written out in capital letters and underlined twice for good measure.

_ LIGHT RUNE _

And beneath it, instructions.

_-draw it  
-think about it  
-say its name  
-congradulations! your a witch_

Tubbo frowned. _Say its name?_ What name? Shaking his head he grabbed his pen and flipped to a blank page of his notebook. He scribbled out a shape quickly, a little sloppy perhaps but he thought it was a decent enough copy of the rune. He stared at it, wavering lines of cheap black ink intersected by the faint baby blue lines printed into the paper. Tubbo cleared his throat. 

“Light- Light rune?”

An overwhelming amount of nothing happened.

He tried again, focusing hard on the paper. “Light rune.”

Nothing again.

He ripped out the page and redrew it, trying to copy the rune Toby had drawn exactly. Luckily his body already seemed to have the muscle memory for it, and when he was done the two sigils were indistinguishable. He traced the hooked curve of the rune, eyes skimming over flat edges and angles alike.

“Light rune!”

The shape on the page did absolutely fuckall.

“This is stupid.” He ripped out the page and tossed it away, watching the kite-shaped shadows it cast as it fluttered down to lie dejectedly on his bedroom floor. Tubbo picked up his pen again and tried again for a final time, focusing less on the action and more on the feeling.

_Think about it. Think about the shape?_

_Think about Light._

_Think about stars and supernovas. Think about street lights blurring past you in the rain. Think about a city seen from the sky, every window a beacon. Think about birthday candles and house fires. Think about the harsh blue light of your phone screen and the soft yellow light of your desk lamp. Think about the glow in the dark stickers still clinging to your ceiling. Feel the light beneath your skin. Touch it. Become it. Speak it into being._

“ꖎ╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣”

It was less of a word than a thought or a feeling, an abstract concept given temporary form. It sparkled on his tongue like pineapples and popping candy and soda water, and somewhere in the split second between speaking and realizing that he had spoken the rune beneath his fingertips crackled to life, the paper beneath it shining whiter than bone and bright enough to sear the sigil into his eyes.

_congradulations! your a witch_

_**2** _

The idea sparked when Tubbo was walking home from school. Last time he had been home Niki had hinted heavily about a family game night on Friday and how they would _really_ appreciate it if he was there, and he couldn’t bear to disappoint his sister, even if he was upset with her. Since he wasn’t going back with Tommy he decided to walk home by himself. Their houses weren’t that far away from each other, only a couple of streets over, but it was good to get used to being apart now and again.

Anyway, all this to say he was walking on his own without much to distract him when he passed by the local craft store. It was a small family owned shop in the same row as the bakery, filled with shelves heavily laden with glassy beads and scrapbook accessories and interestingly shaped buttons, and walls lined with large rolls of paper and fabric in every color of the rainbow. As a small child Tubbo had delighted in going in to buy glitter, felt and crayons and practically had to be dragged out, but as he grew his interest in art had waned and he rarely found himself visiting. Still, something on the little clearance table outside the door had caught his eye.

It wasn’t the sheets of sparkling saffron rhinestones and crimson red adhesive pearls, or the swatches of peach and cerulean striped fabric. It wasn’t the stack of books: beading tutorials and modelmaking guides and patterns for knitted toys. It wasn’t the cross stitch sets of lilies or the jar of buttons made of shells or even the large peacock feathers sticking out of a blue glass vase. What attracted his attention were the sheets of blank stickers, designed so that children could color and customize them themselves.

He drifted closer, thumbing through the pile. The stickers were shaped according to different themes. There were a few sheets of each: dinosaurs, space, flowers, animals, desserts, each sticker the size of a large coin. They were pretty cheap, too, and a minute or two later Tubbo was back on his path home, the loose change in his pockets gone and the front compartment of his backpack a little fuller.

“Family game night” was incredibly uncomfortable. Ranboo had been invited without Tubbo’s knowledge, but then again, what had he expected? “So we have four players,” Eret had explained when Tubbo pulled them aside to ask. “Games are better with four players rather than three.” Tubbo got the feeling that they weren’t really talking about Scrabble.

It wasn’t until he escaped to Tommy’s for the weekend that Tubbo remembered his impulse purchase. He rolled off the bottom bunk where he had been flopped on his belly, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, and fished the sheets out of his bag. He felt something bounce off of his head and looked up to where Tommy was perched on the top bunk, his legs dangling down to kick at the ladder. His friend had a bag of cheetos in his hand and a malicious glint in his eyes. “What’cha got there, Big T?”

“Stickers.” He dropped the wad of sheets onto Tommy’s desk, choosing one at random and ripping open the flimsy plastic packet.

Tommy snorted. “What are you, four?”

“No, I had an idea.” He grabbed one of the pens from Tommy’s desk, a green and black one he vaguely remembered having been his originally. “I think they could be really helpful.”

“Wow, vague much? Are you trying to bait me into asking what you actually want them for or something? It won’t work, I don’t really care.” Filthy lies. Tubbo could see his spark of curiosity from a mile away.

“For magic!” He beamed triumphantly. “I’ve been getting pretty decent at the basic runes but it’s a pain in the ass to have to draw them out every single time. I thought if I wrote them on stickers then maybe I could kind of automate the process? Or at the least, streamline it. Think how cool it would be to slap a sticker on something and have it blow up.”

Tommy perked up. “You know an explosion rune? Show me. Now.”

“What? Well, I don’t, I’m sure one exists but it was just an example.” _Even if I did know one I probably wouldn’t show you, you’re the last person I would give access to a magic bomb._

“Oh.” Tommy stuffed a handful of cheetos in his mouth, licking the residual orange dust off his fingers. “Well that’s fuckin misleading. Go do your cringy magic tricks somewhere else, you’ve gone and pissed me off now.” Tommy dropped his torso back onto the bed.

“Hmmmm… nah.” He hovered the pen over a sticker in the shape of a chubby little cartoon stegosaurus. He hesitated for a second, mulling over what to draw, before quickly scribbling a simple looping shape; one of the first runes his alternate self had presented him with before he started to understand the script in the Weird Old Book for himself. He bent the sheet so that the edge of the sticker poked up, peeling it out neatly. “Okay, and now I just...” Tubbo glanced around Tommy’s desk for a second before his eyes alighted on a red plastic pencil sharpener, the kind with a small container beneath to catch the shavings. He pressed the little dinosaur sticker to the side of the sharpened, carefully smoothing the creases from the edges. Behind him he heard sheets rustling; looking behind him Tubbo could see Tommy poking his head over the side of the bed inquisitively while still trying (and failing) to look disinterested. Tubbo looked back to the sticker and tapped it gently with his finger. 

“⎓ꖎ𝙹ᔑℸ ̣”

The sound floated from his lips like a cloud, wispy and buoyant. The little sharpener twitched once before bobbing into the air, hovering up to suspend itself weightlessly at eye level. Tubbo had seen this before, but the simple anti-gravity effect never ceased to amaze him. He booped it on the side and it twisted, spinning lazily away from him until it bumped into the wall and bounced back toward him. “Sick.”

Tommy sniffed. “S’not that impressive. Wow, he made a little plastic gibber float around, someone give this man an award.” The slight waver in his voice contradicted his dismissive tone.

Tubbo’s mouth curved into a mischievous smirk. “It is impressive, actually, and I bet I can prove it to you.” He grabbed the pen and scribbled the same sign out twice more, this time onto a pterodactyl and a cartoon femur bone.

“No, I don’t think you can- WHAT are you doing?” Tubbo lunged for where Tommy’s bare feet were hanging from the side of the bed. Tommy thrashed his legs but Tubbo had already grabbed a hold of him. “NonononoNO get off of me you bastard, that tickles!” He quickly slapped a sticker onto the sole of each foot before jumping back hurriedly to avoid having his nose broken by an errant kneecap.

“⎓ꖎ𝙹ᔑℸ !”

There was a tiny moment of silence, in which it seemed like nothing had happened. Just as Tommy was beginning to crow triumphantly his face froze dramatically. He seemed to come unstuck from gravity, floating up from the mattress as if he were underwater and slowly being forced to the surface. The crown of his head bumped against the ceiling, stopping his movement.

Tubbo took one look at the way he was starfished across the ceiling and burst into laughter. He gasped, trying to force words out between frantic giggles. “You- oh my god, you’re, you’re like a bloody helium balloon!” He doubled over, tears pricking at his eyes as Tommy gaped helplessly.

“Hey, no wait! This isn’t- this isn’t _funny_ , stop laughing you dickhead! Let me down!” Tubbo only laughed harder.

He wheezed in a few breaths, enough to stop the feeling of lightheadedness that came with laughing too much, and grabbed at one of Tommy’s feet, dragging him down over the edge of the top bunk. He tried to pull him down to the ground but as soon as Tommy’s feet made contact with the carpet he bobbed up again, suspended in midair.

Tommy yelled again and tried to kick toward the floor, but only made himself start spinning in lazy circles. “TUBBO YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

He grinned. “Insult me one more time and I’ll put you back in the ceiling time-out corner.”

Tommy blanched. “DON’T YOU DARE!”

“Quiet down or Phil might come up, and I don’t think we can explain this one away. I guess we could tell him I’ve strung you up with very fine dental floss?”

“We don’t even _have_ dental floss.” He finally seemed to give up on reacquainting himself with the floor, instead trying to swim his way through the air. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. “If this is supposed to be flying magic it’s absolutely shit you know, I can’t even fuckin move!”

Tubbo snickered quietly. “BalloonInnit. I can move you around, see?” he thumped Tommy’s shoulder and his friend slowly spun backward toward the door. “Wheeee!”

Tommy groaned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Tubbo grimaced. “Please don’t throw up all over the carpet, Phil might actually kill us and I’m not ready to die yet. We still have that English test on Thursday.” He quickly dropped his focus from keeping the rune powered. He hadn’t realized just how much effort he had been putting into keeping it going until the pressure was removed from his head. He massaged his temples, wincing a little at his oncoming headache. 

The moment the magic was released the scientifically inexplicable power keeping Tommy afloat vanished and he crashed to the floor with all the grace of a duck with its feathers clipped. He screeched as he fell, way higher pitched than Tubbo had thought him capable of. “JESUS FUCKIN DICK!” If you asked Tubbo he was overreacting. He only fell a few feet, and onto soft carpet at that. There wasn’t even anything on the floor beneath him!

Rather than insulting his pride any further, though, Tubbo only waved his sheet of dinosaur shaped stickers in Tommy’s slightly unfocused eyes. “Don’t underestimate the magic stickers, Tommy.”

“Magic stickers my ass, they’re cursed!”

_**3** _

The old sector of L’manburg was a short bus ride and a not so short walk away from Tubbo’s pristine, middle class neighborhood. It was one of the few parts of the city still made of rickety wood planks perched on flimsy stilts that swayed when the lake’s waters rose. The street Tubbo stood on now looked like it had barely been touched since the city’s founding, only a few extra planks having been hammered in sloppily when the roads began to leak. It probably would have been quite the tourist destination for history buffs, if not for the coating of slimy moss that gelled over every surface and the pervading smell of mildew. The buildings might have once been pretty, but now they were too caked with grit and pond scum to look anything but mildly repulsive.

Tubbo could count on one hand the number of times he had (consciously) visited the area before. It was rather out of his way, and beyond mild historical interest it really didn’t have anything going for it. He wasn’t even quite sure that anyone still lived there, he sure as hell hadn’t seen anybody walking around. Still, he was on a mission, and a few scary houses weren’t about to stop him.

His destination was in the building he stood before now. It was much the same as all those around it; dark, sagging and ready to collapse at any moment. Upstairs the windows were boarded up and half the shingles looked to have fallen off of the roof. The bottom floor was a shopfront with dark windows so thick with dust that it was impossible to tell what merchandise was displayed there, if any. The sign above the door had evidently been hand painted, but the paint was cracking and flaking away. It was just about legible though.

** Ponk’s Citrus Emporium **

Tubbo hesitated before entering. There was no cheery sign perched outside or hung on the door announcing that it was open for business, and he couldn’t see or hear any movement inside. Still, Toby’s note had said that it would be open. He fixed his hand around the doorknob, sculpted shape deformed from the grip of centuries worth of hands, and swung the old door open. It creaked painfully, scraping against floorboards; the result of a poorly fitted frame. 

Inside the air was warm and stagnant and smelled vaguely of vinegar. The few rays of sunlight that dared creep in through the grimy windows caught on thousands of flecks of dust, floating sluggishly through the air. The shop room was small and sparsely furnished. Gangly and precarious looking shelves filled with jars of yellowish preserves stretched across the far and right walls. To his left was a small shop counter with a man reclining against it. He wore a red sweatshirt and had a red, yellow and black cloth wound around his face. He was so still that for a moment Tubbo thought that he was as dead as the rest of the shop, but as soon as Tubbo opened his mouth he spoke up. 

“Can I help you? We have a special on pickled Meyer lemons, buy one get one free.” His eyes were still closed.

Tubbo’s fingers dropped into the pocket of his pants, brushing against the list of Toby’s instructions he had stuffed in there just in case after rereading it what felt like a million times. _This must be Ponk. Now, what am I supposed to say again?_

“Uh. Can I see the back room?” 

The man’s eyes flicked open, disinterested. “Oh, it’s you. Sure, lemme just.” He stood up slowly and stretched like he hadn’t moved in hours. He sauntered over to a small door at the back of the room and unlocked it, gesturing with his hand. “Come on through.”

Tubbo shuffled up to the door and into the “back room”. It was a much larger space than the fake store out front, but far more cramped, with an odd assortment of shelves, boxes and cabinets filling every bit of floor space. Judging by the twisting staircase in the corner it continued upstairs too. Every surface was covered with curios. Bottles of iridescent liquids, bags of priceless gemstones, oddly carved statuettes, mysterious brooches. Bones, robes, ancient tomes held together with prayers and duct tape. A lamp with a turquoise flame, a coal black skull, an umbrella holder full of ornate and deadly looking swords. The shopkeeper coughed. “Welcome back to Ponk’s Magic Emporium, tee em. What’ll it be today?”

Tubbo fumbled for the list, uncrumpling it with hands that barely shook. Whether it was excitement or anxiety that was affecting him, he couldn’t quite decide. “Uh, a bag of bone meal, a bottle of ink and a jar of nether… wart?”

The man bustled through the shop, leaving Tubbo hovering close to the entrance. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, but once the shopkeeper’s footsteps had creaked their way up the staircase he couldn’t resist exploring. He darted from shelf to shelf, object to object. A ship in a bottle with waves that crashed and sails that strained against a tiny gale. A case of glowing golden arrows. A fan made of red and green feathers with a beady eye sculpted into the handle. A painting of a brown haired man wearing dark glasses with thick white rims, King George VII of the Dream SMP according to the plaque screwed onto the frame. He opened a jewelry box and was immediately drawn to one of the rings, nestled innocuously among the rest. It was carved from bone into the shape of a ram’s skull and something about it made his skin crawl. Just as he was about to reach out for it his eye caught on a small pile of fabric sitting on a rather threadbare antique chair. He drifted toward it, pulling it up and unfolding it. 

It seemed to be an antique uniform. If it had been anywhere else he would have assumed it was a cosplay or something, but in a store full of Highly Illegal Magical And Historical Artefacts it was almost certainly a genuine article. There was a navy blue overcoat, a dark plum color in places where the fabric looked more distressed. He could swear the stains still felt sticky-wet, as if when he withdrew his fingertips they would come away smeared sickly red. There was more: a white shirt, a red sash, a belt, pants, boots, a cap, but his head was already reeling. He held the coat up to his chest, stretched the sleeves out as far as he could, and realized with a jolt that it would fit him exactly.

“Hello? You still there?” Ponk’s voice called out from the front of the room and he dropped the coat. It crumpled to the floor. Just fabric.

“I- yeah.” He hurried to the front. “How much will all of that be?”

The man hummed. “Five hundred?”

Tubbo spluttered. “What? No! That’s daylight robbery!”

The shopkeeper gestured to the jar full of bulbous, slimy looking plants. “Nether wart’s worth its weight in gold right now. All of my suppliers have had to disable their portals to stop the pigmen from getting through.”

“Piglins,” Tubbo corrected automatically. He still wasn’t exactly sure what a piglin was, but Wilbur was very particular about what name you called them. “Pigman” was a slur or something.

“Doesn’t matter what you call them, they’re still ruining my business.”

“You can’t offer it any cheaper?” 

The shopkeeper scoffed. “You crazy man? I’m not about to cheat myself out of a fair profit. Take it or leave it, the price stays. Without the nether wart I’ll give it to you for a twenty.”

Tubbo sighed, reaching for his wallet. “Sure, I guess. Twenty it is.”

He left the shop in a hurry, but the smell of vinegar and mold followed him around for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a lot of formatting in this one, tell me if i missed something cuz its like 2am and my attention span has Expired


	11. Wilbur's journey to being a functional member of society, summarized in three parts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow things sure did happen in canon huh
> 
> also if you watched karl's tales from the smp stream robin is definitely one of tubbo's past incarnations in this au

_**1** _

Wilbur didn’t sleep well.

To be fair he had never slept well, even when he was a small child in the frigid north he was plagued by insomnia and when he finally managed to slip away it was always into a nightmare and not a dream. That only got worse as he grew older. During the war his nights were taken up by planning tactics, reviewing information, espionage, and preparing ambushes. He would go for days without sleep, relying on golden apples to stop his body from collapsing. Once he became president there was always more paperwork to do, seemingly endless stacks that piled up on the end of his desk when he wasn’t looking. What was a few hours of missed sleep when there was work to be done? And then later still he spent countless hours pacing the vaulted chambers of a subterranean ravine while his brothers slept, fingers tapping on the buttons that seemed to spread further across the walls every day.

Now, though, there was nothing to keep him occupied. This world, this pretty bastardization of everything Wilbur had ever known was stable, at least superficially. Even if there were chips in its mask of utopian bliss he wouldn’t know the first thing about where to start looking for them. There was no brewing sentiment of war, no blatantly corrupt ruler to overthrow. The people seemed lazy and content. Tommy, who had always fought so adamantly over anything and everything, was happy to let politics wash over his head. He said he went to “therapy”, whatever the fuck that meant. He said it like it was a good thing, but Wilbur wasn’t so sure.

He stayed in the house of the man who acted like he cared about him more than his own father had. He lay on the too-soft mattress of their guest bed, swaddled in the lemon yellow sheets that the Other-Phil had let him choose from a whole rainbow of identically made sets, and counted the stripes on the lilac blue wallpaper until his eyes slipped a row and he had to start all over again. A soft gust of wind blew past, whistling through the tiny gap between the pane and the window frame where Wilbur had refused to close it fully in case of an emergency. The moon slowly traversed from one side of his window to the other, the sky around it lightening from soot black to ash grey. His eyes blinked closed around 4 in the morning and opened again at 6, puffy red and so full of tears he could hardly see.

He showered, taking advantage of the early hour to wash his hair without being badgered by the child to hurry up, and went to pick a book to read for the next half hour until the house’s other residents began to emerge. Other-Phil had a large bookshelf in his study and he let Wilbur go in in the mornings to choose whatever he wanted from it, as long as he put them back when he was finished with them. Apparently one of the books he had been storing in the spare room had gone missing, and while he never said explicitly that he blamed Wilbur, the implication was clear. He had a lot of books that Wilbur could remember being newly published. Phil had the first editions of every notable book shipped up to the castle to be added to the library and he and Techno would always jump gleefully on the new additions. The copies on Other-Phil’s bookshelf were cheap and flimsy by comparison. Thick red leather covers embossed with gold were replaced by thin paper dust jackets printed with gaudy designs and the pages felt wrong, the paper too thin, too glossy, too crisp. The titles Wilbur recognized were all advertised as age old classics now. He didn’t like the way they felt but the words had stayed the same, and it was almost pathetic how desperate he was for the comfort of familiarity. He chose a play he remembered reading as a child and perched on the arm of the couch to read it.

It wasn’t until that evening that anyone mentioned his sleeping habits. He was sure they must have noticed long before; if they didn’t hear him crying in his sleep then they had certainly seen the deep purple bruises beneath his eyes. Other-Phil had been too polite to mention it though, and Tubbo only lived there half the time anyway, and Tommy was, well, Tommy.

Other-Phil had gone out to the store so Wilbur and the children had been left unsupervised. Rather than arcane rituals, though, they were spending their precious hours of freedom folding laundry on the living room floor. They’d all made piles of their own clothes and Wilbur had taken responsibility for Other-Phil’s, since Tubbo kept folding shirts inside out and Tommy hadn’t even bothered with that, just balling them up instead. Wilbur’s pile was small and rather plain in comparison to the others. Other-Phil had insisted on buying him clothes that actually fit and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Wilbur had eventually acquiesced, on the condition that he would pay him back for them as soon as possible.

Tommy wadded up a grey sock and tossed it at him. He went to catch it but reacted too late, grabbing at the air while the sock hit his arm. “Oh.” Wilbur picked it up and folded it around its match, adding the ball to the neat little row he had collected. “That was uncalled for.”

Tommy squinted at him. “You’re a bit off.”

“Not any more than usual. If anything, you’re the one who’s off. I’m not going around throwing laundry at people, am I?”

Tubbo shook his head. “No, he’s got a point. You’ve been all weird recently.”

Wilbur laughed mirthlessly. “No, I don’t think so.” He ran his hand down the green button up he was folding, smoothing out the creases.

Tommy glared. “When was the last time you actually got any sleep?”

Wilbur huffed, irritated. “Last night, alright? I’m fine, okay, can you drop it?”

“You’re not.” Tubbo grabbed the button up out of his hands. “You didn't even notice that this is my shirt, not yours! I’m like a million sizes smaller than you, Wilbur!”

He pinched his temple. “I’m fine! This is normal for me! How the hell would you know what I’m usually like, anyway, you don’t even know me.”

Tommy looked rather put off by that, although he obviously tried not to show it. “You said I’m your brother, dickhead. That gives me automatic knowing shit rights.”

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t play the technicalities game with me, kid. My real brother is probably a pile of bones in a ditch somewhere.”

Tommy glowered. “Wilbur, you’re deflecting.”

“Is it working?”

“No!” Tommy shoved away the remaining pile of unsorted clothes, shuffling over on his knees to sit closer to Wilbur. “What’s your fucking problem, anyway? If you need sleeping pills we can get them for you, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Tommy I don’t need bloody _drugs_ to sleep. I already said, this is normal. I manage fine.” Wilbur sounded overly defensive and he knew it.

Tommy frowned stubbornly. “You know what, just… stay here. I’ll be back.” He got up and hurried out the door.

Wilbur turned to Tubbo. “I’m okay, alright?”

Tubbo shrugged, uncomfortable. “I dunno, Wilbur, it doesn’t really seem that way.” He hesitated but continued. “Just because you’re used to something doesn’t mean it’s okay.” The boy stared at the empty doorway rather than looking Wilbur in the eyes.

They sat in a silent stalemate for a few moments before Tommy barged into the room again, clutching something in his arms. Tubbo gasped slightly. “Tommy, what are you doing? You aren’t seriously gonna-”

Tommy huffed, cradling whatever he was holding closer to his chest in a protective gesture. “He needs him more than I do.” He dropped down opposite Wilbur and stared at him, dead serious.

“Listen to me, Soot boy. What I’m about to give you is precious, and if you damage it in ANY way I’ll have dad kick you out. This is more important than anything. Capiche?”

Wilbur blinked. “Sure?”

“Right.” Tommy unfolded his arms gently to reveal a tattered plush cow. It was made of a threadbare nut brown fabric with spots that had probably once been white but had long since been stained beige-grey. The toy had one black button eye hanging on by a thread and an empty spot where the other should have sat. One of its legs had clearly been ripped off and resewn on by a child’s slightly overzealous hand in a bright red thread, and there was a scrap fabric patch on its side with a tiny puff of cloud textured stuffing leaking out of it. It was a pathetic rag, objectively, and probably a hive for germs, but it was so evidently loved that Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to care. Tommy patted its stupid little head and the loose eye jiggled on the end of its thread. “This is Henry. He always used to help me with nightmares.”

Wilbur stared at Henry. Henry didn’t stare back because he was a bag of stuffing. When Wilbur made no move to take it from Tommy the younger boy reached out and placed it in his lap. “If you don’t want him I'll just put him away again.”

Wilbur shook his head mutely, eyes still fixed on the scrappy little fabric cow. He reached down and gently patted the fabric. It was soft, in that way that only comes from years of touch and countless washes. He gently picked it up and squished it softly against his chest, sniffling.

Tubbo giggled quietly. “Are you crying?”

Wilbur scrubbed at his eyes defensively, sniffing again. “No, fuck off, ‘m not crying over the stupid cow,” he lied.

Tommy scoffed, incensed. “Henry is not stupid! He is a respected member of this family and more of a man than you will ever be. You apologise right this instant.”

A laugh bubbled up in Wilbur’s chest and brought a few more tears with it. A strange feeling overtook him, warm and soft and sad and sweet all at the same time. His mouth twitched into a small, embarrassingly sappy smile. “Thank you, Tommy.”

That night, the nightmares didn’t seem so bad.

_**2** _

Having nothing to do got boring fast. Day in, day out, Wilbur would be left alone in the house while the idiot children were out at school. He had read through every book on Other-Phil’s shelf that he recognized and then every one that he didn’t, and was a good way through starting the cycle all over again. Sometimes Other-Phil was there too, but he was usually working up in his office. Wilbur, as abrasive as he could act, had always been an extravert, and the isolation was suffocating. This was why when Tubbo offered to get him a job at his family’s bakery he accepted without a moment’s hesitation. 

“We’ve been thinking about getting someone else to work at the counter so that Niki can spend more time baking. If you want I could put a in word in your favor?”

“Yes!” Wilbur blurted without thinking. “Please.” His mind caught up with his mouth. “Wait, Niki?”

Tubbo nodded. “My sister. We call it the family bakery but it’s hers really, Eret works at the museum and I only help out when I have to. We had to pool all the money our parents left us in order to open it but it was totally worth it. She’s nice, you’d like her.”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Yeah, I do, I just didn’t realize you were siblings this time around.”

The kid’s eyes widened. “Oh! Wow, it’s like everyone we know is reincarnated. That’s so weird. What about Eret?”

Wilbur’s face darkened. “I know them,” he muttered. “You could say we don’t have the best history.”

“Oh.” Tubbo cleared his throat. “Well, they’ll be at work anyway so you probably won’t see them.” He paused for a moment. “What about Ranboo?”

“Pardon?” Wilbur cocked his head. “Nope, never heard of them. Are they another sibling?”

He had definitely said something wrong. A storm cloud passed over Tubbo as he seemed to withdraw. “No,” he said evenly, “he’s not.”

Niki invited him in for an interview readily. Wilbur couldn’t help but feel anxious about it; on top of having to meet (re-meet?) Niki he had absolutely no idea what one was supposed to do in a bakery. He had grown up as a prince and moved into politics; the closest he had ever come to a job in hospitality was his brief stint presiding over a drug empire before it became a respected democracy.

Tubbo opened the bakery door, ignoring the cherry red _We Are Closed_ sign hanging from it, and ushered Wilbur through. “After you, please.” He stepped in. It was a small, cozy space, with a couple of little café tables and a wide glass topped counter that was currently empty. Niki was perched at one of the tables, looking at something on her phone.

In four hundred years she hadn't changed a bit. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Her hair was dyed pink now, several shades brighter than Technoblade’s and pinned up in a bun, and her plain apron had been chosen more for convenience than for fashion. Still, she had the same aura of quiet kindness, and when she looked up at him he could see the same traces of weary sadness in her eyes. He thought she would have been happier growing up in this world, but apparently not.

“You must be Wilbur!” She smiled shyly and stood up, tucking a strand of bubblegum pink hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture Wilbur wished he didn’t recognize. “I’m Niki, Tubbo’s sister. He told me that you’re interested in working here, correct?”

Wilbur felt himself nodding, almost against his will. It hurt to see the lack of recognition on the face of someone he had once counted among his closest friends. He thought that after meeting his own family again as near strangers he would have gotten used to the unpleasant feeling of being totally unknown to someone you value dearly, but apparently not. 

“Fantastic! Tubbo, would you mind going upstairs?” She turned to her brother, who scampered off without so much as a second glance. Niki sighed slightly, before refocusing her attention on Wilbur. “Anyway, I’m not sure how much experience you have, have you ever worked as a barista before?”

“Uh.” Wilbur buffered, desperately trying to remember what the hell “barista” meant. Something to do with bars? Wait, no, coffee. “No, I haven’t. Will that be an issue?”

Niki shook her head. “No, not at all, Ranboo or I can show you the ropes and if it’s too much trouble Ranboo is very competent. I do have to ask though, are you any good with people?”

Oh, this, _this_ was something Wilbur knew he could do. If he knew one thing it was people, and how to get what he wanted from them. He had always known how to put on a pretty, carefree face when talking with strangers, and it had been both a blessing and a curse at once. “Personally I would consider myself very much a people person, yes. I think Tubbo would vouch for that.” Depending on which version of him you were talking to, at any rate.

Niki seemed to sag in relief. “Oh thank god. Ranboo is a very sweet boy but he can’t handle the “customer” part of customer service for the life of him.” She smiled at him and extended a hand to shake. “Obviously we need to work things out in more detail, but if you’d like to have a trial day today we’d be very happy to have you.”

Wilbur took her hand and hoped she couldn’t feel how much he was shaking on the inside. “It would be a pleasure.”

_**3** _

He missed making music. So often he would catch himself singing, humming, or drumming his hands in an attempt to recreate a half-remembered song. There must have been so many songs that only lived on in his memory, it didn’t seem fair that he had no way to strum new life into them. He had mentioned it to Toby once and he had offered to let Wilbur borrow Tubbo’s ukulele, but it didn’t sit right with him. 

He used to have a guitar, once. It had been a gift from Phil, one of the few times his father had actually tried to find something that Wilbur would like rather than just buying something generically expensive. It was simply designed but constructed expertly. Even though his brothers had vandalized it not even a day after Wilbur was gifted the damn thing he had no doubt that it would have been worth a small fortune when it was new, let alone now. That guitar had kept him company on long, lonely nights in Newfoundland, had practically written the L’Manberg anthem for him, and had been one of the few things that helped make the miserable cave he was exiled to bearable. He couldn’t remember what happened to it for the life of him though, whether it had been taken by the explosion or whether it was still languishing in a deep crack in the earth. He kind of hoped it had been destroyed.

Wilbur could probably buy himself a new one. It wouldn’t have his brothers’ names carved into the body and it definitely wouldn’t be of as high a quality, but it would be better than nothing. He had money now, too, he had been working at the bakery for a few months and had saved up a fairly sizable fund. But there was a reason he was saving up; he wanted to be able to pay Other-Phil back for all the frankly excessive favors he had payed Wilbur. The idea of owing him something made his skin crawl. He still hadn’t quite worked out how much his money was worth, although it was a hell of a lot less than it would have used to, but he figured that if he saved until Christmas he would probably have amassed enough to comfortably wash his hands of it, and he wouldn’t have to feel bad if he did something that Other-Phil might not like, like running away. If he blew his savings on a decent instrument he’d be set back months. He needed to pay Other-Phil back, so every last coin he made was cached in his bedside drawer and his hypothetical guitar languished in his dreams.

Summer was almost over, and when Wilbur got up early in the morning he noticed a slight chill to the air that hadn’t been there before. He grabbed the book he had been reading most recently, a rather dry poetry anthology, and padded down the stairs. There was a brief period between dawn and the time most people would get up where the sun shone but the world sat in a nearly perfectly silent bubble, and he liked going out onto the little patio in the back garden to sit in the fresh air without being disturbed. As he walked into the living room, though, he noticed one of the shadows behind the couch moving. Before he could react something loud, blond and gangly sprung up from behind the sofa.

“HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY!” Tommy practically vaulted over the couch, shoving a small plastic tube-thing into Wilbur’s hands. “Surprise, bitch! Bet you didn’t think we knew it was your birthday, did you? Well think again, you can’t get anything past the great TommyInnit!”

Tubbo popped up from behind the couch too. He had a little plastic tube in his mouth that matched the one Wilbur was holding, and when he blew out it made a sound like a dying rat and fluttered a few glittering strands of confetti around. Both he and Tommy were wearing conical paper hats with balloons printed on them. Tubbo took the confetti-kazoo-thing out of his mouth and smiled shyly at Wilbur. “Don’t let him give himself too much credit. I told him when your birthday is. Sorry, but not really.”

Wilbur felt the gears in his brain turning. “My birthday? Wait, that’s today? Shit, already? I thought it wasn’t for another month!”

Tubbo- or was it Toby? pouted. “Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday! And we tried so hard to make this a surprise, too, that’s just bloody typical of you.”

“I mean, I can’t even remember the last time I celebrated it…” Actually, yeah! When _was_ his last birthday? He knew for sure he had been 24 when he died, but hadn’t he been 24 when Fundy was born? But for all Wilbur had coddled him, his son was 21 when he died. That was biologically impossible, right?

“Well that’s just depressing.” Tommy lunged for him suddenly, shoving something onto his head and snapping a thin elastic band beneath his chin. “Aha! Now you’re a real birthday boy!”

Wilbur groaned, distracted from whatever he had just been thinking about. “Please don’t tell me I’m wearing one of those god awful hats.” The self-satisfied look on Tommy’s face told him everything he needed to know.

Toby giggled. “Come on, do you want your present or what?” Tommy seemed to light up at that, and he quickly dragged Wilbur by the arm over to the couch and shoved him down onto the cushions.

“Close your eyes, big man, and no peeking or else the Green Man’ll curse you for all eternity or some shit.” Wilbur huffed in fake annoyance but closed them anyway. Footsteps receded out of the room but soon returned, and something heavy was dumped unceremoniously into Wilbur’s arms. “Kay, you can look.”

Wilbur looked.

The first thing he noticed was that it wasn’t as nice as his old guitar. That seemed like rather an unfair thing for his first impression to be, but it was true. Still, that didn’t mean it was a bad instrument. The second thing he noticed was that two names had been carved carefully into the front so as not to damage the sound quality, in just the same place as their matches had been so many centuries prior. Wilbur reached forward and gently rubbed his thumb across the smooth wood where Technoblade’s name should have joined them.

He took in a shuddering breath. “How-”

“You mentioned wanting to play the old songs to me.” Toby tapped the side. “Tommy doesn’t know shit about music-”

“Hey!”

“-So I chose it, I hope it’s not too bad. I know it’s got nothing on your old one, but I thought-” Toby startled as Wilbur wrapped his arms around him in a slightly awkward hug.

“Shut up. I like it,” he mumbled into the boy’s hair, before withdrawing slightly sheepishly. _“Like”_ didn’t even scratch the surface and on any other day he would be ashamed at how clumsy his use of vocabulary was, but right now he was too busy trying not to do something stupid like cry to care.

Tommy cleared his throat. “Play something? I mean,” he backtracked quickly, “you don’t gotta or anything. You could just dump it on the floor and go see if the cake Tubbo baked is actually edible or not.” 

Wilbur cracked a smile. “No, I can play you something if you’d like.” He flexed his fingers over the strings. “Alright, I think I have one that you’d like.” He strummed the guitar a few times, fiddling with the tuning before beginning to play.

It was a creepy song, really. Wilbur had never cared for it much but it had always been one of his brother’s favourites, and its significance was undeniable. Hearing it now, played by his own hand no less, brought him back to Pogtopia. Tommy would beg Wilbur to play the same songs from his discs over and over again since he couldn’t listen to them on his jukebox, so much so that playing this now was second nature to him. At the time those memories had felt happy and Wilbur had even looked back on them with fondness shortly before, well, you know, but thinking back on it now they really weren’t pleasant memories.

Wilbur finished playing and the last note rang out into the stillness of the dawn, thrumming beneath his skin long after the sound had dissipated. Wilbur’s eves had fluttered closed at some point, and when he opened them he saw that Toby looked just as haunted as he felt. Tommy, though, seemed enraptured.

“What was that called?” His eyes were sparkling.

WIlbur had to laugh at that. Oh, the bitter irony. “That was Mellohi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter should be a return to your regularly scheduled structured plot now that i have the whole thing totally outlined and am no longer making it up as i go along (much)


	12. Spooky scary skeletal eldritch terror

The leaves on the trees that lined the lane outside Tommy’s house had burned into a gradient of flaming reds and amber yellows, and when he walked down the street their fallen comrades crunched beneath his shoes. The hottest point of the year had long since gone by and it had cooled to a pleasantly mellow temperature for the most part. It was hard to believe that half a year had already passed since Tommy had been an unwilling participant in raising the literal dead.

There were still a few odd summery days and today was one of them. It was a gloriously sunny Sunday morning and Tommy had plans to spend all day on his couch playing Animal Crossing and eating Doritos. He already had a head start; he hadn’t moved from his nest of blankets and throw cushions in hours.

Tommy heard Wilbur pass by behind him. His footsteps were quiet but easily distinguishable; he trod lightly with a tense rhythm as if ready to spring away at any moment. Tommy heard the sound of curtain hooks raking against their rails before a sharp light fell across the floor, sending a glare over his screen. Tommy dropped the Switch to the couch cushions, glowering at Wilbur. “Bitch. I’m busy, take your sunshine somewhere else.”

Wilbur smirked, unlocking the glass sliding door that led out to the garden and flinging it open. “Kids your age need fresh air. The old you was such an adventurous child, I don’t know what happened.”

Tommy crossed his arms. “The 21st century happened. God, don’t tell me you’re gonna harp on about how kids my age should be out climbing trees ‘n catching bugs ‘n shit. I will actually scream, don’t test me.”

Wilbur shook his head with an expression that Tommy was hesitant to call _fond _but couldn’t really find a better descriptor for. “Come on outside. You’ve been hunched over in the dark since the asscrack of dawn, don’t think I didn’t see you dozing there when I woke up. You do realize you have a perfectly good bed of your own, right? Or is sleeping curled up like a pretzel on your sofa infinitely more comfortable?”__

__Tommy growled, swiping a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes. Okay, so maybe he had been there since about 3 in the morning. So what? “Not my fault. Toby was bein’ all weird, hunching over that stupid book of his with the light on. When I asked him what the fuck he was muttering on about he just got all patronizing on me. Bloody hate it when he acts like an adult. Either I had to relocate or sit there and be ignored, and one of those options isn’t very good for my pride.”_ _

__His kind-of-brother snickered and shook his head, beckoning Tommy outside. “Well, whatever Toby was doing I don’t think he bothered sleeping at all. Tubbo’s crashed out on your desk.”_ _

__Tommy rolled his eyes but reluctantly pried himself up from his comfortable dent in the couch cushions, pins and needles sparking up his legs as he moved. “Oh hell.” He dragged himself out onto the little stone tiled patio that overlooked their small garden and flopped on the warm pavers, hissing slightly at the feeling of coarse stone rasping against the bare skin of his hands. “Congratulations, you got me to go from sitting on a comfortable surface to squatting on the ground. I hope you know that this has severely decreased my opinion of you.”_ _

__Wilbur, who was sitting in one of the little wrought-iron chairs they kept outside and resting his legs on the other, only laughed at him. “Sucks to suck.” He tilted his head upward, basking in the warm light. When he was so brightly lit there was a pretty clear greenish tint to Wilbur’s skin. Tommy seriously doubted it had looked like that before he died. When Wilbur didn’t say anything else Tommy lay back on the tiled ground, running his fingers absently along the grooves between slabs of stone._ _

__They relaxed in companionable silence for a few minutes before there was a gentle laugh from behind them. Flicking his eyes open Tommy saw Phil in the doorway. His dad grinned._ _

__“Lovely weather, isn’t it? Maybe we could go out to the park when Tubbo wakes up, make the most of it before all the leaves fall off the trees.” Tommy hummed. Phil was usually really into his regularly scheduled family bonding time but lately he had been too swamped with work. Tommy had never realized a government pencil pusher could be so busy. “Oh, by the way, I’ve invited Fundy over for dinner on Wednesday.”_ _

__Tommy grinned. “Damn, haven’t seen him in ages. Always too busy with his fuckin politicking, isn’t he? What’s so special about Wednesday that he can make time for us out of his oh-so-busy schedule?”_ _

__Phil gave him a deadpan stare. “They’re announcing the Mayoral election vote on Wednesday, with any luck he’ll be accepted for his second term and it’ll be a celebratory dinner. If not I’m sure he’d appreciate some comfort, god knows he’s like family.” They lapsed into a comfortable quiet again. Tommy was pretty excited to see Fundy if he was being honest. He’d been like a cousin to Tommy growing up, but ever since he went into politics and had to quit his job at Niki’s bakery he’d barely seen the guy. Not that he’d ever admit that he missed him to his face, Fundy could be a cocky bastard when he liked._ _

__Phil’s phone pinged, interrupting the blissful silence. He groaned, but it pinged again, and again. He pulled it out of his pocket, scanning whatever messages he had been sent, and his face dropped. “Fuck.” He squatted down to Tommy’s height, ruffling his hair. “Gonna have to put a raincheck on that outing, Toms, something’s come up.”_ _

__Tommy pouted. “God, really? Can it wait? You’re always so busy.”_ _

__The hand gripping his phone trembled slightly, and Tommy didn’t think he was imagining it when Phil’s voice shook. “Sorry Tommy, I really am, but this is important. Wilbur.” Phil stood up. Upon hearing his name called the taller man jolted slightly. He might have actually dozed off in the sun._ _

__“Yeah, what?” He blinked blearily._ _

__Phil sighed. “You’re an adult so you’re in charge. Wake Tubbo up and keep an eye on the news. Don’t let anything happen to the kids, please.”_ _

__Wilbur straightened up, suddenly much more alert. “What’s happening?”_ _

__Phil pressed his lips together. “Hopefully it won’t matter. See you later, Toms.”_ _

__“Dad, wait-” It was too late. Phil had disappeared back into the house and a minute later Tommy heard the sound of their car starting up and driving off. Tommy stared after him, helpless. “Wilbur, what’s going on?” He felt far too vulnerable. It made his skin crawl._ _

__Wilbur frowned. “Why would I know?” He swung his legs off of the chair, striding inside. “I’m not psychic and you sure as hell know this version of Phil better than me. Let’s just get Tubbo and take it from there.”_ _

__Tubbo was, just as Wilbur had said, fast asleep at Tommy’s desk. His Weird Old Book was open to what looked like the very last page and Tubbo’s face was smushed into the ancient parchment paper. Tommy slapped him hard on the back. “Wake the fuck up, dad’s abandoned us.”_ _

__Tubbo gasped, flailing his arms about in panic and nearly sweeping his book onto the floor. “Shit, I’m up, what is it?”_ _

__“Dunno, but Phil seemed real freaked out. Hey Wilbur, if the world’s ending can we break out the microwave popcorn?”_ _

__“Why the hell are you asking me?”_ _

__“You’re the responsible adult now.”_ _

__Wilbur wheezed out a laugh. “God, that’s a new one. I don’t think anyone’s trusted me to be responsible in at least four centuries.”_ _

__“Smartarse.”_ _

__Tubbo scrubbed his hands across his face, hair sticking up at random angles. There was a shadow on his forehead where some of the antique ink had smudged him, either that or the grime on the book was thick enough to stain. “If you don’t know what’s happening why do I need to be awake? Because right now bed sounds like just about the best place to be.”_ _

__Tommy rolled his eyes, practically dragging his friend upright. “Maybe you’d be in a better mood if you didn’t stay up all night being cagey and mysterious.”_ _

__“Oh.” Tubbo yawned. “I did?”_ _

__“Toby did, same difference.” Tubbo looked mildly upset by that. “Anyway, you can figure out how to get downstairs by yourself, I’m making popcorn.”_ _

__They congregated in the sitting room a few minutes later. Tommy, as promised, was cradling a steaming hot bag of popcorn in his arms. It smelled kind of burned but when Wilbur commented on the fact he had a fistful of unpopped kernels thrown in his face for his trouble. Tommy watched them scatter across the floor, rolling under the couch and pinging off the edge of the coffee table to bounce off god knows where. He blinked. “You’re cleaning that up.”_ _

__Tubbo stumbled into the room, stretching widely. He hadn’t bothered changing his shirt from the one he had worn yesterday. Then again, neither had Tommy. “Has Phil at least messaged you anything?” Tubbo draped himself over the back of the couch, making grabby hands at Tommy’s popcorn bag until he begrudgingly dumped a relatively unburnt fistful into his friend’s expectant hands._ _

__“I wish.”_ _

__Wilbur snatched a piece of popcorn from the bag before Tommy could stop him, gagging at the taste. “He said to keep a watch on the news in case something happens, right?”_ _

__“Shit, yeah.” Tommy fished around between the cushions, trying to find where his phone had escaped to. “Hey, what if he’s, like, embroiled in some kind of government conspiracy? Maybe a bunch of guys in black suits are gonna turn up and have us taken away for re-education.”_ _

__Wilbur punched his shoulder, not hard enough to bruise but definitely not gently by anyone’s standards. “You’ve been watching too many of those crackpot action movies, kid.”_ _

__Tommy quickly typed in the name of their local news site into his search bar. “Have not. Hey, his job’s all confidential right? He could be up to anything and we wouldn’t know about it. What if they’ve got aliens in custody, but they’ve escaped and Phil’s gone to detain them? Huh? What then, big man?”_ _

__Whatever Wilbur said in response was lost on Tommy. A long list of news headlines flashed up on his phone screen, all of them from the last minute or two._ _

__ **Terrorist attack on L’Manburg suburb** _ _

__ **Unidentified Object spotted in L’Manburg sky** _ _

__ **L’Manburg evacuation** _ _

__ **Unknown creature attacks suburban town-** _ _

__He skimmed past the writing in a blur, tapping on the first video he saw and turning his volume up._ _

__The footage had been taken on a residential road Tommy recognized as being on the other side of the suburb. It wasn’t an area he visited hugely often but he had been there enough times to recognize it. Or rather, to recognize what remained._ _

__The camera wasn’t focused on the flaming craters that pockmarked the road or on the suddenly thunderously black sky. It wasn’t focused on the people who’s screams of terror had been picked up by the shitty phone microphone of the device it had been recorded on. It wasn’t focused on the trees that burned in the background or the house with a gaping hole in its roof. Rather its lens was centered about a dozen feet above the smoldering wreck of a pickup truck. There, suspended in midair, was a creature Tommy could only describe as a demon._ _

__It was huge, as large as a car at least. It seemed to have no body at all, just a rough skeleton held together by noxious black smoke. The smoke trailed behind it like a sinuous tail, twining upward through a decayed looking ribcage and supporting three charred skulls. The jaw of the left skull unhinged and it gagged up a ball of fire with an inhuman shriek, spitting it down toward the road. It impacted with the asphalt hard enough to make the camera shudder and exploded with flames, thick chunks of road surface flung up to join the rest of the debris. A chunk flew toward the camera and it jerked away, the video cutting off as whoever had recorded it leapt to safety._ _

__It was carnage incarnate, and it was happening a couple of miles away._ _

__Tommy gasped and he tasted sulfur. He jerked upright, still clutching his phone, and popcorn spilled across the floor as the bag slipped from his lap in his haste. He ignored it, scrambling over to the still open door and craning his head outside._ _

__The air was deathly still and baking hot, more intense than even the height of summer had been. A fine ashy power filled his lungs when he breathed too deeply and when he glanced down at his hands he could see it clinging to the sweat on his skin, leeching the color from him. The sky, while not pitch black, had been marred an unhealthy shade of grey._ _

__Wilbur took an unsteady breath. “He didn't. Surely, he couldn't have...”_ _

__"He? You know what's going on?" Tubbo trembled._ _

__Wilbur's face was grim, but there was a discordant spark of optimism in his eyes. "I can guess." He waved to Tommy's phone. "That thing in the video is called a Wither. They don't spawn naturally, and to summon them requires more XP than anybody is naturally born with. The only way to breathe artificial life into their rotting bones is to sacrifice the lives of others in return. Once they’ve been created they feed on the life force of everything around them like parasites, burning whatever they don’t fancy leeching away. They’re man-made killing machines." He twisted into a bitter smile. "I've only seen them once, and I died not even an hour later."_ _

__Tommy paled. "Is that what… y'know…"_ _

__Wilbur made a face. "Tommy, I died of a sword wound. Do you think the scar on my stomach is just for show? I was fucking murdered. Consensually, but still."_ _

__Tubbo furrowed his brows. "How do you consensually-"_ _

__"Not the point. Just listen to me, okay? There are only two people on this server who are strong enough to summon a Wither. Dream," his smile softened slightly, "and Technoblade."_ _

__There was a moment of total silence, before Tommy started sputtering. "You- you're saying your- our brother is as strong as literal _God?_ That's- isn't that, like, heresy or some shit?"_ _

__Wilbur grinned and wow, Tommy had kind of forgotten how crazy he used to be but it really showed through sometimes. "They don't call him the Blood God for nothing. Anyway, Dream's not a God, he's just ridiculously powerful. I'd say there's a pretty large fucking difference there. Dream is just about the most unholy bastard I've had the displeasure of meeting, save maybe myself."_ _

__"If he's not a god then what the fuck is Church Prime for?"_ _

__"Church-" Wilbur burst into laughter, shoulders shaking helplessly as he heaved for breath in between bouts of slightly manic laughter while Tommy and Tubbo watched on in vague confusion. "CHURCH PRIME? Tommy, that was just a stupid joke that went too far, you haven't legitimately deified-" he paused at the blank expressions reflected back at him by the other two. "Oh christ. People in the future actually think the green boy is a god. That is…" he screwed his nose up. "Actually, the more I think about it the more it seems depressing rather than funny."_ _

__He swallowed down the last of his chuckles, straightening up. "Anyway." Wilbur cleared his throat. "If it was Dream then we're completely fucked, but if it was Techno then not only was I RIGHT about him being alive, fuck you very much I know you doubted me, but I'd say we have a pretty good chance of getting him to cut it off. He hides it really, _really_ deep but he's a total sap at heart."_ _

__"Well then, where is he, genius?" Tommy snapped. He wasn't even particularly religious but he couldn't help but feel somewhat humiliated at just how flippantly Wilbur dismissed Church Prime._ _

__Wilbur lit up at that. "I've been doing some thinking about that, actually, and I think I have a decent idea of where to start. It's not even that far from here, unless the sun in the future rises in a different direction and I never noticed. What do you say, wanna come with?"_ _

__Tubbo fidgeted. "But what about Phil and my family? You literally just went off about how dangerous Withers are, and there’s one on the loose right now!"_ _

__Wilbur waved a hand lazily. "They'll be fine. Your family are smart, they'll have got out already, and I don't think there's a single version of Phil that isn't freakily resilient. That man's built different, I swear." He extended a hand to each of them. "Come on, are you helping or not?"_ _

__Tommy grabbed the hand, shaking it firmly. "Fuck it. I can be plenty adventurous if I want to."_ _

__Tubbo hesitated for a minute but copied him, shaking Wilbur by the hand with a much less powerful (violent) grip. "It'll be fine, they won't even notice I was gone."_ _

__Wilbur beamed triumphantly, releasing their hands to clap them each on the back. "That's the attitude! Pack your bags, boys, we're going spelunking!"_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phil and tommy: casually talking about the reincarnation of wilbur's son who's current life he knows nothing about  
> wilbur: fukin asleep rip


	13. Into the woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild spoiler warning i guess: it's not that graphic but there's a slightly icky description of a zombie. if u think that might squick u out then just skip from "It wasn’t Wilbur." to "Tommy gagged and stumbled backward, flinging himself in front of Tubbo on instinct." stay safe babes <333

Tommy shoved a couple of things into his schoolbag: a hoodie, a water bottle, a few granola bars, a torch. He crammed Tubbo’s things in too, since his friend’s bag was mostly taken up by his giant book and a few little jars of plants Tommy didn’t know the names of. They were ready in barely over 10 minutes, but Wilbur was nowhere to be found. They had just started searching for him when Tommy heard the screech of their garden door slamming shut, rattling on its rails. They hurried through to see Wilbur standing in the middle of the living room, a trail of grey footprints leading from the door. He was dusted with ash and holding one of Phil’s garden shovels, of all things.

“The hell do you need a shovel for? We aint going gardening, dumbfuck.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “It’s not for gardening, idiot. It’s an improvised weapon.” He gave it a little demonstrative twirl, swinging it around with a practiced ease that Tommy secretly envied.

“We need weapons?”

Wilbur quirked an eyebrow. “For the mobs. I was hoping you might have an axe, but this'll do in a pinch.”

Tommy chuckled. “Might wanna leave the spade at home. Things might have been different in ye olde times but I don’t think there’s a lot of gang warfare around here nowadays, big man.”

Wilbur stared back at him blankly. “What? No, mobs. You know, like zombies, not the fucking Cartel Quackity’s always going on about. Anyways, go find yourself a knife or something, we don’t have all day.” Tubbo nodded and darted off to the kitchen but Tommy was still stuck buffering.

“Wilbur, zombies aren’t real.”

“I’m technically a zombie, you know, and as such I find that statement both untrue and highly offensive. Anyway, you didn’t think magic and demons were real either, that doesn’t stop them from being a royal pain in the ass at every given opportunity. God, you really are an ignorant child.”

Tommy’s eye twitched. “I am _not-”_

“Here you go!” Tubbo was back, and he was pressing the handle of their largest, sharpest knife into Tommy’s hand, the one his dad hated him using. Tommy took it from him, noting the frying pan Tubbo held up to his own chest. “I figured you’d like a knife best, you’re always going on about stabbing people.”

“I- right.” He hesitated before tucking it into the side pocket of his backpack. “Thanks.”

The sky outside was still black, the air choked with ash, and Tommy knew that if he strained his ears he would hear the Wither screaming. They hurried through empty streets, all of their neighbors either having fled the area or huddled away in the deepest corners of their homes. It was eerie to see the whole neighborhood so deserted. Usually on a bright autumn weekend there would be a suburban orchestra of lawnmowers and screeching children but today not even birdsong accompanied them as they headed for where the forest crept up on the pretty, organized housing developments.

It really didn’t take long to reach the edges of civilization, where smooth concrete slabs of sidewalk were foregone and they were forced to walk along the weathered road surface itself. Eventually even that too faded away, replaced with only a worn dirt track that gradually shrunk the further they travelled. At the end of the path stood a heavily scratched red sign, names and swear words carved into the paint. _**NO TRESPASSERS**_ , as if an abused sign and a flimsy wire fence could possibly contain them.

They climbed the fence easily, Wilbur and Tommy tossing their bags over before clambering over. Tubbo winced at the suggestion of throwing his bag and had to carefully drop it into Tommy’s arms, and since he wasn’t half as gangly as the others it took him a good while longer to scale it. Tommy took a moment to revel in the clear air while he waited. Out here in the shade of the trees the suffocating heat finally washed away, their distance from the charred demon finally great enough that its effects weren’t burning his skin. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves around him, blowing a strand of hair into his eyes. The town was dead, but the forest still thrived. 

They forged into the woods, slipping between branches. Dry pine needles crunched beneath Tommy’s feet and the sharp, heady smell of tree sap clung to his clothes. They walked in silence for the most part, Tommy and Tubbo marveling at the size of the trees. The deeper they got the older the trees were; after just half an hour of travel most of them had trunks too wide for Tommy to wrap his arms around and have his hands meet. All the trees back home were slim and carefully pruned into elegant shapes. They were practically unrecognizable in comparison to the sturdy, gnarled beasts that bent and twisted around him now.

They had to take a break after an hour, since neither Tommy or Tubbo were exactly physically active and Wilbur had spent the last 6 months getting out of shape. The thick branches made a welcome shade from the sun as they rested, its light slipping through cracks in the screen to dapple across the carpet of golden leaves and needles. Tubbo let his bag slip off his shoulders and bent down to set it beneath the biggest tree nearby. When he leaned over a piece of paper fell out of the pocket of his jeans, fluttering to the forest floor.

Tommy reached out, poking at it. “What you got there?”

“Huh?” Tubbo reached down, snatching it up. “That’s weird, I don’t remember…” His eyes flicked back and forth over whatever was written on the paper, squinting slightly. Suddenly a wave of understanding washed over his face. “Oh. _Oh_.” He stuffed it into his pocket hurriedly before Tommy could lean over to snoop at whatever was on the note. At his questioning gaze Tubbo smiled uncomfortably. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

Wilbur, who was slouched against another nearby spruce tree, stretched lazily. “Five minutes, then we start up again.”

Tommy whined. “Oh my god, we’ve been walking forever. We’ve gotta be almost there, right?”

Wilbur grimaced sympathetically. “It's three hours on foot when you're actually fit and running most of the way. Like this we'll probably get there before sundown, but I wouldn’t be too optimistic”

Tommy’s face fell. “Oh, fuck off. I didn’t sign up to go _tramping!_ This is child exploitation!” He crossed his arms, sulking, but didn’t complain _too_ much when Wilbur made him get back up again.

They walked on, and on, and on. Hours wasted away, nothing marking their passage but the way the gaps between the leaves shrunk the deeper they got, only the barest glimpses of light still struggling through. The trees at the core of the forest were impossibly large, with peeling bark and knotted roots that twisted upward and out from the earth, arching high enough that Tommy could crawl under them if he wanted to. It had gone past impressive and started to verge into unsettling. The gaps between the trunks were increasingly tight and Tommy was starting to become unpleasantly reminded of his claustrophobia issues.

His feet ached and he was pretty sure he had developed a blister where his heel chafed against his shoe. Tommy felt about five minutes away from simply giving up and falling over, and he had gotten a decent amount of sleep the night before. Tubbo, who didn't have the luxury of rest, was staggering every other step, the soles of his shoes dragging a trail through the leaf litter. He caught on a hidden tree root and stumbled, toppling to the ground. “Shit!” He landed on his hands and knees and Tommy leant down to offer him a hand back up.

He berated his friend. “Jesus Big T, you’re so clumsy. Watch where you’re going next time, idiot. Hey Wilbur, wait up a second would you?” He looked up, Tubbo gripping his arm to steady himself. “Wilbur?”

Thick tree trunks loomed in every direction, forming the walls of the maze they seemed to have become trapped in. They were buried deep in the heart of the forest, miles away from human contact and without cell service. It suddenly struck Tommy that they were cripplingly, _dangerously_ alone. Tommy spun around, trying to remember which direction they had been heading in, but the identical scenery blurred together. He gulped, his heartbeat hitching up to thrum beneath his skin in an irregular beat.

Tubbo yawned, not yet having realised that Wilbur was nowhere to be seen. “‘M sorry for falling, I’m just really tired.” He noticed his friend’s growing panic, crinkling his forehead. “Tommy?”

Tommy hissed out a breath. “Wilbur come on, this isn’t funny.” Dead silence hung around him and wow, it was dark, wasn’t it? He pressed his hand against the nearest tree trunk, digging his nails into the lichen covered bark. “WILBUR! WHERE ARE YOU, DICKHEAD?”

After a few seconds that seemed to drag for an eternity Tommy heard something in response. A low groan, oddly guttural, somewhere off to their left. He whirled around, dragging Tubbo behind him as he hurried toward the source of the noise, darting between trees with a frantic zest he had been sorely lacking for the last few hours. If Wilbur was groaning then he was probably hurt, and the last fucking thing they needed was to be stranded in the middle of this creepy bloody forest with the only guy with a sense of direction incapacitated.

“Wait, what?” Tubbo stared at him, baffled. Shit. He hadn’t realized he had been talking out loud. He shook his head, cresting the curve of a particularly thick tree, when he saw Wilbur. He was kneeling on the ground, shoulders hunched despairingly, and his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Jesus, there you are. You’re the most useless adult I’ve ever met.” The tension eased from his body a little, although not by much.

Wilbur’s shoulders shook. Tommy squinted at the fabric of his jumper. That was weird, hadn’t he been wearing a grey jumper earlier? The lighting was pretty dim but he could swear it looked blue.

Wilbur groaned again, louder. Tommy hadn’t realized his vocal range ran that deep. Just as he was about to say something Wilbur snapped his head around, neck twisting impossibly far, and Tommy screamed.

It wasn’t Wilbur. 

It wasn’t Wilbur and it sure as fuck wasn’t human either. Its colorless skin was decayed and sagging, clinging skeletally tight around its bones but loose everywhere else and visible through several rips and tears in the dirt caked rags draped over its form. Its filthy, matted hair hung in clumps over the deep, soulless pits in its eye sockets. It tipped its head in an almost childlike gesture and its jaw swung open, bloated tongue lolling out over split lips, spit bubbling in the gaps between rotted teeth. Whatever remaining illusion of humanity shattered as it snarled, mouth stretching into a grin so wide it showed off blackened gums that receded far enough to expose the jaw bone in places.

Tommy gagged and stumbled backward, flinging himself in front of Tubbo on instinct. The- fuck, Wilbur hadn’t been joking, had he? The _zombie_ reached out a clawed hand, dragging itself slowly upward into an animalistic crouch like a predator preparing to pounce. Tommy fumbled blindly for his bag, trying to stretch far enough to reach the pocket where his knife was trapped. If he could just force his fingertips a little further back, maybe he could reach it in time. Just a centimeter or two more…

Tubbo forced his head past Tommy’s shoulder, trying to see what Tommy was blocking, and gasped. “What the fuck. Tommy, what- oh my god.”

It was too late. The zombie screeched gleefully, lunging forward with a power its decaying bones and atrophied muscles should never have been able to summon. Tommy gave up on trying to attack it and braced himself, crushing his eyes closed, but was thrown aside at the last second, toppling to the ground and rolling a few times from the force with which he had been shoved. He sucked in a breath, eyes flying back open in shock. _“DON’T!”_ Tubbo must have shoved him aside, he realized with a sickening lurch. That- that fucking idiot, he was going to get himself killed! _“FUCKING!”_ Tommy scrambled upright just in time to see his best friend twist his body, using the momentum to swing a frying pan at the head of the zombie. _“ **TRY ME!** ”_ The pan impacted with a wet crunch. The undead’s brittle skull caved in and it buckled, crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll. The rotted corpse twitched a few times before slowly collapsing in on itself until all that was left was a pale of stinking grey dirt. Tubbo panted, the pan slipping from his white knuckled hands. _“BITCH!”_

Tommy gaped at him, still kneeling on the ground. The beating of his own heart echoed loud in his ears, pattering erratically. He gasped, trying unsuccessfully to breathe evenly. Tubbo leaned over, bracing his arms on his knees as he caught his own breath. He stared at the ground, totally emotionless. “Heh. Oops.”

Leaves crunched up ahead and they both tensed again, but when Tommy looked up he saw Wilbur’s stupid floppy hair and the shovel he had been lugging with him the whole walk. Right, so that's why he wanted to bring it. Okay, yeah, maybe he wasn’t just being weird and paranoid like usual.

Wilbur glanced around the little clearing they were currently mildly incapacitated in. He wrinkled his nose. “Why does it smell like rot over here?”

Tommy took a final deep breath. “That… was…” He broke into a grin, stars practically sparkling in his eyes. “Fucking awesome! Holy motherfucking _shit!_ You really showed that pussy!” He staggered to his feet. “God, you should’ve been there Wilbur, he just fuckin decapitated a zombie! He just, just swung a pan at it and it was so intimidated it gave up right then and there!”

Wilbur laughed incredulously. “I can’t fucking believe the two of you. I left you alone for three minutes! It didn’t bite either of you, right?”

Tommy beamed. “Didn’t have a chance.”

“Good.” He shook his head exasperatedly. “Kids these days, I swear. You don’t even have any bloody armor on!” He glanced back up at the way he came, before smiling back at them with the manic spark of borderline insanity that Tommy had come to associate with him. “I only left because I recognize where we are now. We’re like five minutes from the cave entrance, think you can drag yourselves that far? You can sleep when we get there, don’t worry.”

Tubbo sagged in relief. “Oh thank god, I think if I had to walk much longer I would actually just die. Literally, spontaneously, voluntarily.”

Tommy elbowed him, reaching down to retrieve the dropped pan. “You don’t even know what half those words mean.” He hefted the pan up, twirling it around. It didn’t seem damaged but there was a sticky looking grey-red stain. “Think Phil would still cook with this if he knew it’d had zombie brain goo on it?”

Tubbo took it back, smiling shakily. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gang will be meeting someone next chapter ;))) also s2 finale how we feelin boys??? *eyes upcoming wilbur revival arc* *eyes upcoming wilbur revival arc* *eyes upco-


	14. Tommy decides he's not a fan of caves

Wilbur led them to a small nook dug into the side of a hill, the rotting door almost entirely blocked by adventurous tree roots. They struggled in, the three of them cramping into the small space. It was empty, save for a couple of empty crates and a collapsed wooden frame that had probably once been a bed.

Tommy fumbled for his flashlight. “This is it, really? I was expecting something a little more impressive, I’ll be honest.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, walking to the very back of the little hovel. “No you little shit, this is just the entrance. The real base is downstairs.” He gestured to the ground at the back and pointing the beam of his torch toward it tommy could see the beginnings of a spiraling staircase carved into the ground. 

He coughed. “I knew that, I was just messing with you.” Wilbur ignored him, swiftly disappearing down the stairs. Tommy followed him but paused at the top of the staircase, staring down at them. The spiral they twisted in was very tight and the steps themselves were steep and narrow, jutting out unevenly. He swallowed. “You do know I’m a little claus-to-the-traphobic, right?”

He could hear Wilbur’s sigh echo all the way up the staircase, even though the man himself had long disappeared from sight. “You managed before, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Right.” He put out a foot hesitantly, before retracting it. 

Tubbo groaned. “Oh my god, I’ll just go first.” He hopped down the first couple of stairs before turning back, beckoning Tommy to follow him. “Come on, we can take them one at a time, ya big baby.”

Tommy flushed but followed behind him, fixing a hand onto the straps of Tubbo’s backpack. “For safety,” he bluffed. Definitely not at all because he needed reassurance.

The steps seemed to wind down forever, each bend feeling tighter, but at last his hold on Tubbo’s bag pulled him free and into what felt like a vast cavern. He couldn’t be sure though, it was nearly pitch black and the weak little beam from the torch he really needed to replace the batteries in wasn’t doing much to alleviate the gloom. He squinted into the dark, trying to make out where Wilbur had fucked off to, before two large hands clamped over his eyes. He shrieked in alarm, thrashing desperately, and his shout echoed around the space, bouncing all around him. Wilbur’s laughter joined it. “Oh my god, you startle so easily! What’s wrong, you afraid the big bad cave monster’s gonna come eat you up?” His voice took on a teasing tone, as if talking to a baby or a particularly pathetic animal.

He growled. “Shut up, I’ll fuckin stab you. I have a knife and I’m not afraid to use it, old man.” Wilbur only laughed harder. “Anyway, you got some lights around here? I can’t see shit?”

He heard a rustle of fabric; a shrug, perhaps. “There’s a whole bunch of lanterns hanging from the ceiling but I doubt they’ve been lit since I left here. There might be a few torches too, but unless either of you brought something to start a fire with they’re as good as useless. Give me the flashlight, would you? There’s some kind of fiddly walkways to get down.” Tommy slapped the torch into his hand a little more harshly than necessary.

“Fiddly”, as it turned out, was a rather egregious understatement. What had probably once been decently robust wooden bridges had deteriorated to flimsy wooden structures that sagged in the middle and creaked at the slightest contact. Wilbur led the way, trying to jump between the most stable looking planks, and Tubbo followed hot on his heels. Tommy took up the rear, lagging behind slightly.

The ravine was quiet, eerily so. Even the forest, as creepy as it had been, was still full of wildlife. This little underground bubble was just cold and uncomfortably still, without even the slightest breeze to blow away the centuries old dust that caked every surface. The only sounds in the entire cave were that of their breaths. It was so quiet that when he started to hear a low ringing sound he assumed it must be a problem with his ear. But no, that wasn’t right, the closer he listened the more he could discern a defined beat. It wasn’t his heart, either, he had been hearing that in his chest ever since they entered the dead silence. Tommy paused completely about halfway along the longest bridge, trying to focus harder on the peculiar noise.

Tubbo noticed that he had stopped and turned back to face him. “You good? You’re not freaking out, are you?”

Tommy shook his head, staring intently into the dark. “Big T, am I going crazy or can you hear that too?”

Wilbur called back from up ahead. “Can this wait? You’re nearly across the bridge, it’s really not the best place to stop and contemplate unless you want to risk the wood snapping from extended pressure.”

“Can it for a second, would you? Just be quiet and listen.”

They all shut up for a few moments and Tommy was right, the cavern definitely wasn’t silent anymore. The longer he listened the louder the rhythmic hum seeded to grow, and the more it itched at his brain that he had heard it somewhere before.

Tubbo gasped. “Oh, yeah! I think I know what you mean! It’s that kind of buzzy sound, right?”

Tommy nodded, before remembering that his friend probably couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Is it just me or is it kind of familiar though?”

Tubbo hummed. “Yeah, actually, now that you mention it. It’s kind of like… Wilbur, what’s the name of that song you play a lot? The gloomy one, you know.”

Wilbur’s voice hitched. “Mellohi?”

Tommy frowned. “Mellohi.” His voice was barely above a murmur, but as soon as he spoke things started to happen in very quick succession.

_Firstly:_ The music, which had been a low hum, suddenly intensified. It screeched loud enough to make Tommy’s ears ring as it echoed back and forth throughout the ravine. Tommy clamped his hands over his ears, his footing wobbling as he flinched.

_Secondly:_ Harsh light flared out across the cavern as the lamps Wilbur had mentioned burst into spectral blue flames, casting a sharp glow that reflected off the stone and dazzled them. Tommy squinted into the bright light, head spinning. He staggered backward at the assault on his senses, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the precious beam he was balanced on.

_Thirdly:_ The air in the space between him and Tubbo seemed to blur, a shadow of static defying the blinding light around it. It solidified as if coming into focus and Tommy was able to make out a choppy silhouette. The static raised its hand toward him and the music was drowned out by an even louder buzz. It crackled in his ears, making his head swim, and the figure sharpened even more. It had grey skin, grey hair, grey eyes, _his_ eyes, and he was just able to see Tubbo lunging forward to try and catch him before the shadow wearing his face finally touched him and his world exploded with static and he plummeted down

down

_down_

_**down** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha you fools, you thought you were getting technoblade content? WRONG


	15. TommyInnit is infected with Ghosts Disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my mental state has been less than poggers lately and i had to fully rewrite this chapter like 3 times before i could stand to look at it. but here it is, i wash my hands of it and solemnly vow to never touch it again

The first thing Tommy noticed when he regained consciousness was that he was breathing

The second thing he noticed was that he really shouldn’t feel surprised by that.

He groaned, forcing his eyes open before immediately slamming them back closed when he realized how bright the cave had become. The light definitely wasn’t as bright as it had been when it flared, but the lamps Wilbur had mentioned were clearly still lit because they weren’t doing his headache any favors. And fuck, did his head hurt. It didn’t feel bruised like he might have expected, but there was a persistent throbbing between his eyes that made him feel dizzy even though he was lying down.

Tommy felt a hand grab on to his shoulder, shakily him slightly. He grumbled, reaching up sluggishly to bat the hand away before attempting to open his eyes again. This time he was prepared for the light level, and as long as he squinted he was able to keep them open. He stared blurrily up at Tubbo, who was leaning over him with an anxious expression that melted into relief as soon as he noticed that Tommy was looking back up at him.

“Wilbur, he’s awake!”

There was a shuffling sound behind him, before Wilbur’s voice spoke up directly behind his head. “Tommy? You didn’t get brain damage from that, did you?”

Tommy couldn’t respond. He was frozen, a weirdly bittersweet feeling tangling through his chest at the sound of his brother’s voice.

Wait, _brother?_ Well technically he supposed they were, but they never really mentioned it. After all, reincarnation aside he had only known the guy for like half a year. Referring to them as brothers was just kind of weird honestly, he didn’t know why that had been his first instinct. Wilbur was just Wilbur, both in his head and out. And yet... Something about calling the older man his sibling felt oddly right. He guessed it always kind of had, but the feeling was multiplied tenfold now, to the point where denying that they were brothers felt more counterintuitive than admitting it.

Weird.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Tubbo snapping his fingers in his face. “Hello? Earth to Tommy? Man, you really aren’t doing much to disprove the brain damage theory right now. Oh god, we’re so screwed, neither of us are licensed medical practitioners. Please tell me I don’t have to do brain surgery on you with a kitchen knife.”

Tommy mustered his best attempt at a scowl. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Tubbo sighed relievedly at his response. “Oh thank fuck. You know I’m not really the biggest fan of blood.”

Tommy stared blankly up at him, the metaphorical cogs in his head whirring desperately. Even though he knew logically that nothing could have changed in the time between him falling off the bridge and coming to again, there was a weird sense of uncanny valley when he looked at Tubbo’s face. Something felt amiss, yet it was clear that nothing had changed. His eyes were the same, and his nose, and his ears, and his horns…

His horns?

“Big T, what’s wrong with your horns?”

“My what?” Tubbo raised an eyebrow. “Why would I have horns?”

Tommy frowned. “Because you were born with them, dipshit?”

Tubbo squinted at him, looking slightly weirded out. “Tommy, I’m pretty sure humans aren’t born with horns.”

He blinked slowly. “Yeah, but you’re not…” He trailed off, whatever train of thought he had been following abruptly fogging over. “God, I dunno. Hey, what even happened before I fell down?” He propped himself up on his elbows, wincing slightly. He had been lucky enough to land on a patch of springy cave moss, but even so the impact of the fall had clearly jarred him. The idea of trying to sit up or even turn around was way too daunting. Hopefully Wilbur didn’t mind making eye contact with the back of his head for the time being.

Wilbur spoke up again. “To be honest, we were hoping you could tell us. There was this weird, shadowy thing that showed up for a second- neither of us saw it too well but it came right up to you. I think it might have been what pushed you off, actually, but I’m not sure. I don’t suppose you remember seeing it?”

“I…” He bit his lip in contemplation. “Yeah, I think so. Can’t really remember what it looked like though, it was all blurry an’ shit. It’s weird though, for a second I think it kind of looked like me.” He chuckled nervously. “Hey, maybe it was your Tommy’s ghost!”

It was supposed to be a joke, theoretically, but something about the stupid theory struck an odd chord with him. Tubbo seemed to be of a similar mind, if the pensive furrow in his brows was any indication. Tubbo took a deep breath. “That might not actually be too implausible?”

Tommy squinted up at him, equal parts mocking and curious. “Really? Are you a ghost expert now, as well as being fuckin magic Einstein?”

Tubbo snorted. “Hardly. But- Toby has a few books about them, although I think he was probably looking for stuff about reincarnation more than anything. Saying that I’ve read them would be a bit of an exaggeration, though. If you have ghost questions you should probably ask him instead.”

Tommy stared up at him, deadpan. “Well? Fetch him, bitch boy.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes but stilled, gaze fixing firmly onto one of the turquoise flames that flickered over their heads. His eyes rolled back a little and he started to convulse. Tommy shuddered, looking away. This part always creeped him out a little, if he was being honest. He was half convinced that Tubbo hammed it up deliberately just to make him uncomfortable.

Tubbo’s eyes snapped back to him after a few moments, something sharper gleaming there. He took a deep breath. “Ghosts, right?”

Wilbur hummed. “I thought you couldn’t really tell what happens while Tubbo’s in charge?”

Toby shook his head. “I’ve been practicing, that doesn’t matter. Look, if you’ve found Tommy’s ghost, and it’s actually him, and he actually remembers shit, there’s a pretty high chance he could be…” He winced. “...Volatile.”

“Volatile?” Wilbur laughed. “I mean yeah, what version of Tommy isn’t?”

Toby grimaced. “That’s not really what I mean. Look, a lot happened after you died, okay, and I did some things that I kind of regret now, but at the time I really didn’t have a choice, and Tommy got mad at me for that which was justified but also kind of an overreaction if you ask me, and-”

“Woah, hey, breathe, kid!”

Toby slumped, defeated. “Look, do you remember how I told you L’Manburg lost its independence?”

“Yeah, you said Dream overthrew you?” Wilbur sounded confused. Tommy felt the same, honestly. When Wilbur and Toby started talking about magic and time shenanigans he was almost always left in the dark.

“Right.” Toby buried his face in his hands. “Yeah, I lied. There was no coup, or hostile takeover, or anything like that, Dream just offered me a deal and I accepted it.” Wilbur was deathly silent, so he continued. “I didn’t like it, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? Let him keep terrorizing us? But Tommy didn’t feel the same way, he thought I was being a coward, I guess. We fought about it, and then we didn’t speak for a while, and then we found out that at some point he ran away. I sent out search parties, I even went looking myself, but we never found him.” He laughed bitterly. “I never would have even _considered_ looking here, I would’ve thought he’d avoid this place like the plague.”

Tommy cringed. Logically, he had no reason to feel apologetic over the actions of a version of himself who was effectively a different person. Illogically, he felt like shit. The thought of fighting that badly with his best friend was like a knife in his stomach, slowly twisting. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, before he had a chance to think about it.

“Huh?” Toby frowned. “No, no, it’s not your fault! It happened a long time ago, and it wasn’t even really you, please don’t apologize.”

“No!” He bolted upright into a sitting position, the ache in his bones suddenly trivial. Tommy was shocked by his outburst, but words kept spilling from his mouth before he even realized he was saying them. “I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry, everything was happening really quickly back then and it was just way fucking too much. I was being a dick, I blamed you for so much shit that wasn’t even your fault, and then I just ran off like a fucking child having a temper tantrum. I thought if I left for a while you’d change your mind, but…” He trailed off, the fountain of words drying up as suddenly as they had begun. “I guess I never got the chance to come back, huh,” he finished lamely.

Toby was staring at him, eyes wide with shock and something Tommy didn’t feel confident enough to call hope. “Tommy?”

He broke eye contact, gazing intently at his hands. The pads of his fingers were smooth, free of calluses. He wasn’t sure why that felt like such a big deal, it wasn’t like there was any reason for his hands to be callused in the first place. “Yeah?”

Toby was silent, but a hand settled on the back of Tommy’s shoulder. Wilbur spoke quietly. “Hey, kid, turn around, would you?”

Tommy shrugged with forced nonchalance, shuffling around to face Wilbur, but still examining his hands. “Tommy, can you look at me?”

His eyes flickered up to meet Wilbur’s and for a second Tommy swore his heart stopped.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make _sense_ , he saw Wilbur every day for christ’s sake. Wilbur was stupid and annoying, and seeing his stupid annoying face was absolutely nothing remarkable. Which did nothing at all to explain the way his shoulders hitched as he gasped out a sob, tears welling in his eyes to burn salty trails down his cheeks. Once the tears started they wouldn’t stop, pouring out in floods and wrecking him until it was all he could do to keep himself upright. Wilbur silently opened his arms and Tommy collapsed forward, burning his face in Wilbur’s- his brother’s shirt.

He thudded his forehead weakly against Wilbur’s collarbones in a half hearted sign of aggression, hands balling into fists as he wrapped his arms around his brother in a fierce hug. “Wilby,” he choked, “if you die again, I’ll fucking kill you.”


	16. They're getting closer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to JNG hitting 420 kudos o7

Tommy wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, Wilbur holding him firmly but gently, as if he might break at any moment, despite the fact that he had very clearly broken long ago. Eventually, though, when he had shed every last tear his body could muster and a few more besides, his sobbing quieted and he grew heavy in his brother’s arms. He blinked slowly, trying to ward away the fog of sleep, but his day had been long and grueling, both physically and emotionally, and before he could stop himself Tommy slipped into the realm of dreams, an invisible weight finally lifted from his shoulders.

When he stirred it was difficult to tell how much time had passed. The lamps were still lit, the blue fire apparently not needing fuel to burn. In terms of natural light, though, there was none. The cave they were in was nestled far too deep beneath the surface of the earth for even a single ray of sunlight to creep its way down. The only thing Tommy could confidently tell was that Wilbur was no longer holding him. Rather, Tommy was curled up on the ground, head pillowed on his bag and the hoodie he had brought along draped over him like a slightly pathetic, tea stained blanket. He rubbed at his cheeks, grimacing at the feeling of dried tears on his skin, and sat up.

Tubbo was propped up against the opposite wall of the underground ravine, his head lolling down to his chest as he slept. He was facing directly toward Tommy, as if he had been keeping watch before he finally nodded off. Wilbur was nowhere to be seen, but Tommy was reasonably confident that he wouldn’t have abandoned them in the middle of fucking nowhere. Wilbur was an asshole, but Tommy liked to think he gave at least a _little_ bit of a shit about their wellbeing. Hopefully.

Tommy stood up, wincing slightly at the stiffness in his joints, and tilted his head up to gaze at the roof of the cavern, so very far away. He sucked in a deep breath before all but shrieking. _“WILBUR SOOT YOU SON OF A BITCH, WHERE ARE YOU?”_

His echoed crystal clear throughout the cave, the sharp stone walls carrying the sound far past where his vision was obstructed.

Tubbo groaned from where he leaned against the wall, shaking his head unhappily before glaring up at Tommy through sleep crusted eyes. “Loud!”

“No shit, genius.” Tommy cocked his head, listening for a response. There was nothing in reply, and for a moment Tommy was half convinced that Wilbur actually _had_ abandoned them, familial ties and dubiously legitimate moral compass be damned. Soon, though, he heard the _thud thud thud_ of hurried footsteps approaching from one end of the narrow crevasse, before Wilbur ducked out from behind an unsteady looking wooden beam.

“Good, you woke yourselves up! That saves me the emotional trauma of having to do it for you.” He leant against the beam for a moment, but upon hearing it creak ominously he grimaced slightly and pushed himself off it, standing slightly awkwardly without something to pose against. “Now, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Tubbo groaned loudly, letting his head roll back to thud against the wall. “Please, just for once can something we do be easy? It’s not fair.”

Wilbur grinned, undeterred. “Nothing is fair, get used to it. Now, the bad news is that Techno isn’t here.” Tommy drooped. “Not only is he not here,” Wilbur continued, just to rub salt into the wound, “but having searched this place from top to bottom I can confidently say that it doesn’t look like he came here at all. So basically my intuition was a complete bust, and we’ve been barking up the wrong tree this whole time.”

Tommy scowled viciously, only to receive an uncomfortably happy smile in response. “Say psych right now, I fucking dare you.”

Wilbur shook his head. “The _good_ news is that I think I might have an idea of where he actually is! And before you say something sarcastic in response to that, don’t think I didn’t see you gearing up for it, I am almost 73 percent positive that I’m right this time!”

Tommy shot him a deadpan glare. “Would you stop being so fucking chipper, it’s giving me a headache.”

“Nah.” His brother beamed. “And do you want to know what the even better news is? There’s a portal in this very ravine!”

There was a brief silence, before Tubbo coughed. “Please tell me you aren’t talking about a Nether portal.”

Wilbur’s grin remained fixed on his face. “I cannot!” He allowed his face to relax slightly. “How much do you know about the Nether, exactly?”

Tubbo hummed. “A bit. I know nether wart grows there, and it’s where the Piglins are from. And, uh…” He trailed off. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

“And Tommy?” Wilbur swiveled to face him more directly. 

“Uh. The Nether. It’s…” He cocked his head in consideration, trying to dredge up the newly discovered memories that lay buried at the edge of his consciousness. “Hot.” He nodded decisively.

Wilbur giggled. “This is going to be _interesting_.”

Tommy screwed up his face. “Yeah, I really don’t like the sound of that one little bit. Is it too late to turn around and go back home?”

He heard Tubbo sigh heavily. “Oh, god, going home. Phil has to have noticed we’re gone by now.” Tommy paled at the realization, and he saw Tubbo sit up straighter, suddenly much more alert. “Which means he’s probably told my family! They’ll kill me! They’ll actually eviscerate me!”

“Right, never mind, to the Nether it is. Phil’s probably gonna get all weepy on us. All I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed.” Tommy shuddered. “The longer I can put that off, the better.”

Wilbur took a deep breath, steeling himself before forcing the plastic grin back on to his face. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it! For now, grab your bags, the portal’s just down here.”

Tommy gave Tubbo a hand to get up and scooped up his own backpack, slipping his arms through the straps. They tugged at his skin uncomfortably, and he was pretty sure he would have identical bruises on his shoulders if he had to wear it much longer. Once they were both ready Wilbur led them deeper into the cavern.  
When fully lit Tommy could see that the ravine was endlessly long and very narrow. If it wasn’t for the substantial height he would be feeling far too cramped. As it was, it made him a little skittish. The further Wilbur led them the closer the walls got and the sparser the lanterns were, until what lit their way was not the spectral blue flames but thin wisps of purple smoke that glowed softly. They rounded a last jut of the rocky walls and came face to face with what had been emitting the smoke.

The portal was an ugly, boxy thing, hewn from a sharp, glassy rock. The material itself was midnight black but highly reflective, and the purple light bounced off it dazzlingly. Within the frame swirled a violet haze, whirling and eddying without rhyme or reason. Curls of the smoke escaped their frame, drifting aimlessly toward them. If Tommy held his breath, it almost sounded like the thing was whispering to him.

“Creepy,” he muttered, just at the same time as Tubbo blurted “cool!” They stared at each other awkwardly before Wilbur clapped his hands together loudly.

“Before we go in, I’ve gotta give you a safety briefing.” They both nodded quietly. “Great! Firstly, don’t approach any mobs. They’re all hostile and they will try to kill you. Secondly, don’t go jumping willy-nilly off of ledges, you might fall into a lava lake and I don’t want to wait another 400 years for you to be reincarnated again. Thirdly, you probably want to take a drink now because your water might evaporate. And fourthly, no sleeping.”

Tommy squinted. “Hang on, what kind of bullshit rule is “no sleeping?” I’ll sleep wherever I bloody please, thank you!”

Wilbur smirked. “Well, you could, but your head would explode.” Tommy’s eyes bugged out, but before he could manage anything other than a weak splutter in response Wilbur had already stepped into the portal, the smoke ebbing forward to envelop him greedily. Just before the haze fully obscured him Wilbur raised his hand in a mock salute. “See you on the other side!” Wilbur stepped backward and in an instant he was gone, leaving only a puff of amethyst fog in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i wonder what phil is up to. i'm sure he is absolutely fine (((:


	17. Through the looking glass

Tommy stepped hesitantly into the newly empty portal frame, feet balancing awkwardly on the rim. In the center, where the smoke was thickest, he could actually feel it on his skin. It was a thickening of the air, soft as silk and cold as ice. It sent goosebumps up his arms where it snaked its way up under his shirt, and when he sucked in a hesitant breath he felt his lungs fill with the stuff. It tasted of char, primarily, with a nauseating aftertaste like artificial grape. The fog was whispering, he was absolutely sure of it now, he just couldn’t understand what it was saying. The words seemed to melt away before he could decipher them, dissipating into a soft hum the moment he began to register them.

Tubbo’s figure beside the portal became blurred as the purple haze obscured it, and he thought his friend tried to say something but he couldn’t be sure because the whispering was getting louder, still just as gentle but deafening at the same time. Tommy’s head pounded and he could have been screaming for all he knew, he could barely hear his own thoughts over the deafening sound.

All of a sudden the ground seemed to fall out from under his feet as the world lurched around him. His ears popped as he felt himself be returned to stability. The whispering quietened again, slowly slipping away, and the thick veil of smoke receded to a violet film. Tommy staggered forward, reeling, and the portal released him fully from its grip, spitting him out to the ground. Still dizzy he staggered and fell, his braced arms hitting not the cold, uninviting stone of the cave floor but something warm, wet and sticky, with an unsettling texture.

Tommy felt bile burn at the back of his throat and he scrambled to get to his feet again, peeling himself off of the sticky ground. It left a pinkish residue on his hands when he drew them away. He looked up, finally, and took in the scene around him.

The first thing he saw was red. A truly alarming amount of it, really. He was still in a cavern, that much hadn't changed, but rather than a narrow fissure in the earth he now stood in a gigantic space. The ceiling was high enough that he had to crane his neck to see it, and it was so broad that even if he squinted he couldn't see where it ended. The ground, walls, and everything in between were sculpted from chunks of a pinkish substance, all gummed together by something slick and red that looked far too much like blood for Tommy’s taste. He wiped his hand on the side of his jeans unconsciously, trying to get it clean.

The air was blisteringly hot, with an overpowering smell of rotten eggs and burnt toast. Tommy had thought it had been bad back in the overworld, feeling the effects of the Wither, but this was infinitely worse. He gagged, and instantly regretted it the moment he opened his mouth and felt his saliva start to dry out in the heat. He heard a chuckle off to his left and spun round, shooting daggers.

Wilbur grinned. “Seem familiar? God, I forgot just how unpleasant it is here.”

Tommy glowered. “You could've bloody warned me about the smell.” He grimaced. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get this out of my clothes. And I really liked this shirt, too!”

Wilbur cackled. “Don’t you have three others just like it? Anyway, I don’t know what you do and don’t remember. Maybe you have a crystal clear recollection of all the different Nether biomes biomes, maybe you don’t know shit, I’m not in your head. And thank god for that, as well.”

Tommy’s eye twitched. “I’ll tell you what I remember, I remember you being a massive fucking dickhead! You were bloody deranged! Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for all the shit you pulled, just because I’m not outright trying to gut you with this knife.”

Wilbur drooped a little. “Toby’s forgiven me.”

“ _Tubbo_ ,” Tommy enunciated, “Has not been forced to think about what you did for over 400 years. I have grievances, big man, and if you think I won’t air them then you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

A spluttering cough came from behind them, jolting Tommy back to reality and sending whatever he had been about to say flying out of his head, along with any context for the feeling of borderline resentment that had bubbled up within him. “Am I-” another fit of coughing, “interrupting something here?"

Tommy plastered a smile over his face, trying to brush off the slightly unsettling feeling he had developed. It wasn't particularly pleasant having sporadic bursts of frankly miserable memories, along with all the bitter feelings associated with them resurfacing. He certainly wasn't looking forward to this being a continual thing.

"Nah, you're good. Wilbur's just being an ass." He stretched his arms above his head, trying to appear casual. "So, we're in your fucked up hell dimension, now where to next?"

Wilbur faltered. "Ah, yes. That is the question, isn't it?"

Both Tommy and Tubbo stared at him with similar levels of judgement. "You dragged us through a literal _dimensional rift_ and you don't even know what you're looking for?"

"Well", blustered Wilbur, never one to admit his mistakes, "I had sort of hoped there might be something immediately visible, y'know. Look, cut me some slack, I haven't exactly kept in contact with the guy!"

Tommy flung his arms up in exasperation. "So now what are we supposed to do? Slowly cook ourselves to death on the off chance we just stumble across him?"

"Look." Wilbur licked his lips. "Why don't you just-” his eyes darted around, before alighting on the ground a few feet behind Tubbo. "Why don't the two of you get some gold?" He hurried over to whatever he had noticed. Tommy squinted, before realizing that what had caught Wilbur's attention was a metallic gleam embedded in the spongy floor. Wilbur hefted his shovel up, prising at the glossy pebbles until Tommy saw one pop out, coated in a thin sheen of translucent red but otherwise unharmed. Wilbur bent down to scoop it up, dropping it in Tommy's hand. It was warm to the touch, and surprisingly hefty. "You can use your knife to pry them out and Tubbo can take this. There's plenty of deposits around, it should keep you busy while I scout out the area. I'll shout if I find anything, and if I don't I'll be back in a hour."

Tubbo snatched the nugget of gold, rolling it over in his hands wondrously. "Not to seem like a total brainlet, but literally how is this helpful? Other than making bank when we get home, I guess?"

Wilbur pressed the shovel into his hands. "Distracting the natives. You remember I told you what piglins are, those things that got spotted in L'Manburg a few months back? They don't have the sweetest dispositions, but they're dead easy to butter up with a little gold. Now go look for gold deposits, don't wander off, and if you find a piglin toss it some of this and run but whatever you do, don't hit it."

Tommy puffed his chest up, saluting stiffly. "Aye aye, captain! You can count on us!"

Wilbur glanced back and forth between the two of them a few times before nodding sharply and hurrying off with brisk strides, disappearing over a swell in the terrain. Once he was safely out of distance they turned back to each other.

"...We aren't seriously just going to stick around here, are we?"

A mischievous grin spread over Tommy's face. "Oh, hell no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: oh boy i sure can't wait to dedicate all my writing time to this fic so that i can get it finished some time within the next couple of months!
> 
> my brain: heres 3 more au concepts to consume all of your braincells and demand to be written <3!!!
> 
> me: ...fuckity
> 
> anyway sorry this is so horrendously late and nothing much even happens, but things will (!!!) heat up (haha funny nether joke) in the next few chapters. also do yall like dadbur and fundy content cuz you'll never guess what ive spent the last week writing


	18. Tubbo is concerningly nonchalant when faced with his own mortality

They didn’t leave the portal area straight away. Partially because they wanted to wait til they were absolutely, positively sure that WIlbur wouldn’t come rushing back, but mostly because they couldn’t decide on which direction they wanted to explore in. Tubbo wanted to go to the north, where the ground sloped down into a crater they couldn’t see the bottom of, while Tommy wanted to try and scale the sharper cliffs to the east. They ended up playing rock paper scissors to decide it, and despite Tommy’s best efforts he hadn’t found a way to cheat. Tubbo grinned smugly, bringing his closed fist down on Tommy’s scissors with a little more force than necessary. “Hah! Take that!”

Tommy rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans with an exaggerated huff. “Whatever. I bet it’s gonna be really boring down there. You’re gonna be all sad, you’ll be like “oh, Tommy! If only we went in the other direction, it would’ve been so cool and amazing and definitely not a waste of time! But you already knew that because you’re smart and awesome, unlike me!”

“Wow, talk about a sore loser.” Tubbo hefted the shovel Wilbur had dumped him with, considering it. “I think I’ll just leave this here. Didn’t Wilbur want to bring it as a weapon in the first place? I feel like it’s probably not a good thing that he didn’t bring it with him.” He propped it up against the glossy black stone of the portal, appraising it for a second before nodding and setting off. Despite his misgivings, Tommy followed him. “He said the shit here is really dangerous, right? What if he gets jumped by something?”

“He’ll be fiiiine,” Tommy groaned, dragging out the I. “He’s died once, can’t you just bring him back again?”

Tubbo burst out into laughter. “What, are you fucking crazy? That was all Toby. I can’t bring people back from the dead, I can barely conjure fire without burning myself!”

Tommy shrugged. “I dunno, big T, that sounds pretty impressive to me You’re a firebender n’ shit! You can cook s’mores with your hands! Somebody tries to take your lunch money? Burn the fucker!”

His friend shoved him lightly. “I am _not_ gonna do that. Unlike some people present, I don’t want the local police force to have a vendetta against me.”

The two of them had gotten caught up in their conversation, so neither of them noticed how the ground ahead of them dropped off abruptly until Tubbo had planted his foot squarely into thin air. Neither of them had time to react before gravity got the better of him and he was plummeting. Tommy screeched, lunging forward to try and grab him. His hand snagged on Tubbo’s and he was pulled forward too, chest crashing to the ground, bruising his ribs. His arm dangled awkwardly over the edge and he gritted his teeth as the strain of trying to hold an entire teenager up pulled at his shoulder, threatening to dislocate it.

Tubbo gasped. “Fuck, fuck-”

“Shut up! Shut up, give me your other hand, come _on!"_ What little traction there was between their hands was rapidly degrading as a combination of the brutal heat and the heart-pounding stress slicked their palms with sweat. Tubbo thrashed weakly, trying to raise his other arm but only serving to further loosen Tommy’s grasp.

Tommy felt his fingers slip, buckling under the weight. He made a desperate effort to clench his hand, but it was no use. Tubbo’s hand slipped further, and just before Tommy lost his grip entirely he knew it was too late.

_“⎓ꖎ𝙹ᔑℸ!”_

Tommy’s grip gave way, and he was jerked back as all the strain he had been putting into pulling backward suddenly paid off without any counterweight. The force rolled him over onto his back and he screamed desperately, thrashing manically in an attempt to twist himself back around. He grabbed on to the ledge, pulling himself forward as far as he could without plummeting. His heart dropped as he saw what lay below.

Far, far beneath the precipice he lay on, stretching out as far as the eye could see, lurked an endless sea of lava. He saw a huge mass swell beneath the surface, coming to a head as a giant bubble. It popped, gushing molten rock severely feet up into the air, before sinking back down into the glowing sea of magma. 

The edges of Tommy’s vision started to blur, swallowed by shadows that jumped and crackled like static. His heartbeats stuttered, falling into a different pattern, one that echoed throughout his very bones as the melody that accompanied it pulsed in his ears. Panic and despair washed over him in a wave, and it was all he could do to keep himself steady on the edge of the precipice. 

A sob wracked its way through Tommy’s body, and he was dimly aware of a soft hiss of evaporating water as his eyes blurred not with tears but with steam. He screwed his face up, dropping his head to the ground. The netherrack stuck to his skin like vinyl on a hot day, but he couldn’t have cared less. He shrieked wordlessly, tearing at his vocal chords, and the sound seemed to carry for miles.

“Tommy!” His head snapped up, dry eyes meeting incredulously with the sight of Tubbo suspended weightlessly over the void, a couple of feet out from the precipice. He gaped. 

“Are you a ghost?” he murmured. “I don’t think I can deal with any more ghosts today.”

“What? No, I’m- give me your hand would you?” Tommy reached his arm up, not the one that had just failed him, and dragged his friend back over the land. The moment there was solid ground beneath him Tubbo’s eyes flickered shut and he dropped abruptly, landing awkwardly on his back like an upended beetle. “Crap!”

Tommy sucked in a shallow breath, a few moments away from a complete meltdown. “Mind explaining what the actual _fuck_ just happened?”

Tubbo smiled shakily, lifting his leg so that Tommy could see the bottom of his shoe. A simple, vaguely familiar emblem was painted onto the worn rubber sole with what looked to be glitter glue. “Flotation runes. I put them on there as a joke, really, I didn't think it would be _useful_.” He giggled.

The color blanched from Tommy’s face. “It’s not fucking _funny_ , Tubbo, I thought you were- I thought you’d- I can’t do this.” He reached a hand up, tugging his hair up harshly by the roots in an attempt to ground himself. He could still feel the rhythm thrumming through his veins, still see the void lurking in the corner of his eyes.

Tubbo’s smile melted off his face. “Tommy? Look, man, I’m fine. I mean yeah, it was a bit close for comfort. Hell, how do you think I felt? But I’m okay, really. Don’t sweat it.”

Steam rose steadily from around his eyes as his tears evaporated before they could even be shed. “DON’T SWEAT IT? Do you even realize what almost fucking happened? This isn’t some bloody joke, you were as good as dead!”

Tubbo frowned, breaking eye contact. “Dude-”

The music in his head ticked up a notch, growing more frantic by the second. Tommy could barely even register his own words, allowing himself to be caught up in the tide of emotions that surged through him. “Don’t fucking “dude” me! Do you have any self awareness at all? Why aren’t you freaking the hell out about this? I’m not the one who almost died here! You should be panicking!”

Tubbo shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on a point several inches away from Tommy’s head. “Behind-!”

“I’VE WATCHED YOU DIE TWICE, I'LL BE FUCKED IF I HAVE TO DO IT AGAIN!” Tommy roared. The music spiked, hammering into his brain with all the delicacy of a chainsaw. His vision blanked out entirely for a second, and when it flickered back in the uproar that had overtaken his mind finally began to subside. 

He sucked in a breath, feeling the rhythm of his heart slowly start to fall back into a pattern that somewhat approached normal. “That wasn’t- I’m sorry-”

Tubbo lunged forward, eyes wide with fear. “Behind you!”

As Tommy turned to look he felt the harsh crack of something blunt striking the side of his head. _Oh_ , he thought, as the world slipped away from him. _Wilbur’s gonna be so pissed._

And he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun new drinking game: take a shot (of dr pepper I Am A Minor) every time tommy sustains a head injury in this fic! i think it's exceeded 5 times by now! why do i make him suffer!
> 
> (EDIT: i am a fool who definitely should not be writing this shit at 2am, i forgot my own canon timeline. if you read anything that doesn't match with the canon divergence, no u didn't)


	19. Child kidnapping gone wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> renamed the series to match JNG!

He woke up to the feeling of arms wrapped around him and heat on his skin, cloying and unbearably intense. “Ungh,” he muttered eloquently. “Dad, would y’ turn the fucking heat down? Man’s dying of heatstroke.” The person holding him did not respond with their words, like Tommy had been told to repeatedly throughout all his 16 years to mixed success. Instead they fucking _oinked_.

Tommy’s eyes flew open. “You,” he stated, words surprisingly clear considering the fog he was speaking through, “are not my father.” The thing-that-wasn’t-Phil made a grunting noise, hoisting him closer to its chest. Now that Tommy had a few more of his faculties about him he could tell that he was less being gently cradled and more being restrained, and that his captor was pinning his arms to his sides with hooves rather than hands.

The cogs in his brain chugged along lazily. “Oi, you’re one of them pig things right? Pigman?” The “pigman” growled. Tommy shrunk back hastily. “Right, fuck, not a pigman, that’s a bad word isn’t it. Oh hell, I’m being offensive again. Oops. Shit, what was it? Piggle, pigger, pigling, piglin- yeah, piglin! Right? Eyyy?” It oinked again. Tommy wasn’t really sure how to read emotions from pig noises but he decided that it was a good sound, because his dad always told him how important it was to remain optimistic, even when the other kids at school are being mean or you’ve been kidnapped by oinking hellbeasts. You know, standard teenage problems.

Fuck, he missed Phil.

“I miss Phil,” he said out loud, because while usually he’d be mortified to admit something like that it wasn’t like anybody was around to hear him.

“Same,” sighed Tubbo, from somewhere off behind him.

Tommy tensed, making the Piglin tighten its grip on him reflexively. “Hey! You weren’t supposed to hear that!” He flushed bright red, glad that Tubbo was behind him and not beside him and thus the last few shards of his dignity were preserved. “What’s going on? This is your fault, isn’t it?”

Tubbo made an indignant noise. “We’re being kidnapped, _moron_. And it’s bloody well not my fault, I wasn’t the one screaming my head off and letting everything within a three mile radius know exactly where we were.”

Tommy huffed, ever petulant. “Wilbur never said not to scream.”

“It’s common fucking sense, dude, ever heard of it?”

“I thought you were dead! What, was I supposed to act like everything was all fine and peachy? Oops, Tubbs just got glomped by the lava lake, _L_. Better luck next reincarnation!”

“You’re being obtuse.”

“And you’re being a fuckin wanker, you-”

_“GET YOUR SLIMY TROTTERS OFF OF ME, YOU FILTH INFESTED MUTTON CHOP! I’LL HAVE YOUR PANCREAS FOR SAUSAGES IF YOU DON’T LET GO!”_ Another piglin crested a hill and came into view, with an irate Wilbur slung backwards over its shoulder. He thrashed viciously, biting at its arms and not even making a mark on the thick skin. He twisted around enough to catch Tommy’s eye and froze, expression darkening from pissed off to outright murderous. _“YOU!”_

Tubbo groaned. “So much for our last chance of getting out of this without a fight. Hey, I bet that gold would’ve been really fucking useful right about now, that’s pretty ironic.”

The piglin carrying Wilbur drew closer, falling into line with the other two. There were a few unintelligible grunts shared between them and the three set off, carrying their victims helplessly away with them.

With the order they were in Tommy was now face to face with Wilbur, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. His face was bright red from both the anger and the heat, and his jaw was clenched tightly enough that Tommy could hear his teeth grinding even over the bubbling of distant lava and the sticky sound of hoofsteps on netherrack. His eyes were wide, the familiar flame of madness burning brighter than it had in months, a sickening reminder of a time Tommy didn’t care to try and remember. He hissed out a breath between his teeth, a last ditch attempt at self restraint. “Tommy. Mother. Fucking. Innit.”

Tommy swallowed; rather uncomfortably, his mouth was very dry. “Yes, brother dearest?”

His nostrils flared. “If I wasn’t currently being hoisted around by a fucking pig, I would have my hands around your scrawny little chicken neck. What part of you doesn’t understand basic fucking instructions? You are going to tell me what you did, and you are going to tell me _now_ , or I’ll personally see to it that you’re gutted with a garden rake. Do I make myself-”

_“Oink,”_ went the piglin carrying him. 

Wilbur tensed bodily. “And you’re next, bacon breath!”

“Well,” Tommy sputtered, scrabbling for an easy way out, “in my defense I am a child, and thus cannot be held accountable for my own actions.” The corner of Wilbur’s mouth twitched into a snarl. “Anyway!” he exclaimed hastily, “it’s Tubbo’s fault, not mine!”

“Hey!” Something swatted at Tommy’s ankle, making him flinch and the piglin tense its hold around him as a result.

“Yeah!” he continued. “Tubbo’s the one who picked which direction we went in, and he’s the one who went and threw himself into the bloody lava, so I think it’s perfectly fucking understandable if I was a little shaken and screamed my head off!”

Wilbur stared in disbelief for a moment before sagging theatrically, going limp in the piglin’s arms. “Idiots! Idiotic fucking moron children the both of you! I don’t know what possessed me to try bringing you along, of course you were going to be more trouble than you were worth!” The piglin patted his back with an empathetic grunt, and Wilbur buckled, wheezing in pain. “Fucking thank you, hambone! You’re the only sane one here!”

Tommy started to laugh, but quickly stifled it when Wilbur whipped his head up, glaring maliciously. “Oops, _ahem_.”

“Hey, guys?” Tubbo spoke up from behind. “Do you know where they’re taking us?”

“Sort of.”

“Yeah, me either- wait, what?” Tommy blinked stupidly at Wilbur.

“Eh,” he said unhelpfully. “I have an inkling. I was actually half planning on getting captured, but you two dipshits were supposed to be safe by the portal, not fucking _coming along with me_.”

Tommy’s mouth parted slightly. “You don’t think they’re taking us- Technoblade?”

“Technoblade,” Wilbur confirmed. “At least, I hope. If not we’re in some deep shit. Actually, as it is I doubt we’ll be given a warm welcome.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said we were siblings?”

“And we’ve got a bloody fucked up family, don’t we? Or we used to, anyway, this time it’s all squeaky-clean, white picket fences and freshly baked cookies. Shouldn’t you remember what it used to be like?”

Tommy pursed his lips. “I don’t remember Technoblade.”

Tubbo coughed. “Well, you might not have to soon.”

“Huh?” Tommy tried to twist around and see him, to no particular success. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Use your eyes instead of your mouth for once.”

Tommy turned back around and jerked back in surprise at what he saw.

At some point during their trek their surroundings had melted from harsh red netherrack and puddles of molten rock to a dense bluish forest. The ground was coated in a thick, spongy looking moss, although patches of the exposed netherrack were still visible underneath. The trees around them weren’t trees at all on closer inspection, but huge, mushroom-like plants with thick puce colored stems and bulbous, oily looking growths in place of leaves. Little clusters of familiar beige mushrooms sprouted from the ground, seemingly the one thing that didn’t differ at all between dimensions.

The dense vegetation was a welcome reprieve after the lava lakes, but it wasn’t what caught Tommy’s eye.

No, that would be the giant fucking castle.

It was an ugly thing, to put it lightly. Outcroppings of dull black stone brick were squashed up awkwardly against each other, with seemingly no thought given to symmetry or aesthetics. Not that Tommy knew much about those either, but after being forced to take art classes for a few years as a child he liked to think he grasped at least the basics. Thick chunks of gold the size of watermelons were wedged in between gaps in the haphazard brick walls, shining like stars when the light from the glowing stalactites that grew from the cavern ceiling hit them. A moat of lava ringed the fortress, although considering the hefty bridge roughly hewn from grease stained cyan wood it was more decorative than defensive.

“It’s… hideous,” he murmured wondrously.

“What? What is it?” Wilbur squirmed, trying to crane his head backwards.

“Don’t bother, you’re not missing much. It’s a bastion, I think?”

“Bastion remnant you mean?”

Tubbo whistled as they came closer, evidently headed for whatever lay inside. “There’s nothing remnanty about it.”

The piglins hooves clattered noisily against the wood of the bridge, and none of them quite dared to say anything. The guards that stood either side of the gaping entryway nodded to the piglins carrying them, and their captors took them inside, unperturbed by their prisoners' obvious unease. They were unperturbed by a lot of things, actually.

Inside the bastion was dark and gloomy. While outside there had been almost too many light sources, inside there were precious few and the few there were were quickly dampened by the matt void of the chalkboard black bricks. The entry archway was large and imposing, but the deeper into the bastion they got they tighter the hallways became, twisting around each other in a maze of identical passages. They were carried up and down stairwells, around spiraling corners that twisted around themselves, and past countless indistinguishable doorways, making any chance of escape near impossible without blind luck or a very strong pickaxe.

At long last, immeasurably deep in the guts of the bastion, the piglins holding them came to a stop. The door they halted in front of was utterly unassuming; just a plain, unmarked slab of oily cyan wood. The piglin holding Tommy grunted and dropped him abruptly to his feet, jarring him. “Fuck, my ankle!” he muttered, the first thing he had said in well over an hour. At his sides he saw the same happen to the others, to a similar effect. Wilbur’s piglin gave him an apologetic tap on the back, noticeably lighter than before but still strong enough to make him wince. When none of them did anything for a moment the piglin behind Tommy pushed him forward, until the tip of his nose very nearly brushed the door. “Alright, I get it you pushy bitch.” There was no doorknob, it wouldn’t make much sense for a race with trotters rather than hands, but Tommy pushed the door and it fell open easily.

Inside was…

Huh?

Inside was, of all things, a _potato field._

A few slightly stunted oak trees were planted throughout the vegetable patch, and somebody had hung lanterns from them, creating a homely glow in the perpetual night of the bastion. Behind the plantation was a humble little shack, which despite being a little lopsided was definitely much more carefully designed than the fortress that encased it.

A large figure squatted in the middle of the field, the white fur collar of a heavy red cloak obscuring any more than their basic outline from view, although a few strands of pale pink hair tangled over the back of the cloak. Beside them in the dirt were a few glass bottles of water and a plain garden trowel. The piglins oinked, and the figure hummed, getting to their feet. 

They turned, eyes fixed on their hands as they pulled off their well worn gardening gloves. They spoke up in a low, bored sounding drawl. “Abigail, Lucius, Sullivan, I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Is there something the maaaa _aaaaaaaaaa_ -”

Technoblade glanced up and locked eyes with Tommy, the glove he had managed to take off falling limp to the dusty floor while the other hung half removed from his fingers.

Tommy clenched his sweaty hands into fists. He was- He was so _fucking angry_ , and he barely knew why. He was sad, too, and resentful. Hurt, betrayed, annoyed, disgusted...

...

_...Happy?_

He grit his teeth against the tidal wave of tangled feelings; way, _way_ more emotional labour than he intended to deal with, and managed a smile that almost felt genuine. “You know,” he choked out, “you’re shorter than I thought you would be.”

Techno’s eye twitched minusculely, the one crack in his mask of blank shock, and before he could blink the heavy door was slammed shut in Tommy’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmMMMMMMM
> 
> also yes, techno named the piglins. he was a little lonely. yes, all the others have names too. he's starting to run out of good names, actually, so this is pretty good timing all things considered


End file.
